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2Dt)e HibersiDe ^Literature Series 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 



IN THREE NUMBERS 

L 




^^; 



-\ 



co?^J 



„MAR 26 1888 T^ 



HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 






Copyright, 1863, 
Bt henry wads worth LONGFELLOW. 

Copyright, 188S, 
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS. 



♦ 

FAQE 

Introduction 5 

Prelude : The Wayside Inn 11 

The Landlord's Tale : Paul Revere' s Ride . . 23 

Interlude 29 

The Student's Tale : The Falcon of Sbr Federigo . 31 

Interlude 40 

The Spanish Jew's Tale : The Legend of Rabbi Ben 

Levi 42 

Interlude 44 

The Sicilian's Tale : King Robert of Siculy . . 45 

Interlude 53 

The Musician's Tale: The Saga of King Olaf . . 54 

I. The Challenge of Thor 56 

II. King Olaf's Return 57 

III. Thora of Rimol 61 

IV. Queen Sigrid the Haughty 63 

V. The Skerry of Shrieks ^66 

VI. The Wraith of Odin 69 

VII. Iron-Beard T2 .^ 

VIII. GUDRUN 75 

IX. Thangbrand the Priest 77 

X. Raud the Strong .80 

XI. Bishop Sigurd of Salten Fiord ... 82 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



XII. King Olaf's Christmas 

XIII. The Building of the Long Serpent . 

XIV. The Crew of the Long Serpent 
XV. A Little Bird in the Air 

XVI. Queen Thyri and the Angelica Stalks 
XVII. King Svend of the Forked Beard 
XVIII. King Olaf and Earl Sigvald . 
XIX. King Olaf's War-Horns .... 
XX. Einar Tamberskelver 
XXI. King Olaf's Death-Drink 
XXII. The Nun of Nidaros .... 
Interlude 



85 

88 

92 

94 

96 

100 

103 

104 

109 

111 

114 

116 



INTKODUCTION. 



WHEN Mr. Longfellow was j3repariiig himself to 
take the professorship of modern languages and 
literatures in Harvard College, he made a stay in Swe- 
den and there studied Scandinavian literature. Not 
long after he had begun his work as professor, he jotted 
down in his diary a list of his literary plans. " First," 
he says, " I shall publish a collection of poems ; then, — 

'' History of English Poetry. 

*' Studies in the Manner of Claude Lorraine ; a series 
of sketches. 

'' Count Cagliostro ; a novel. 

*' The Saga of Hakon Jarl ; a poem." 

He published the volume of poems, and a good many 
volumes of the same sort, but he did not write a History 
of English Poetry, nor a novel with the subject of Count 
Cagliostro, nor the Studies in the Manner of Claude 
Lorraine. But the early discovery of the poetic re- 
sources of Scandinavian story was to bear fruit in various 
ways later in his life. It would be worth the while of a 
student to gather the several poems by Mr. Longfellow 
which either sprang directly from Sweden, Norway, 
Denmark, and Ljeland, or have reference to the legends 
of those countries. 

This entry in his diary was made September 17, 1839. 
Ten years later he wrote The Challenge of Tlior, in- 



6 INTRODUCTION, 

tending it as a Prologue to the second part of Christus. 
If the student will turn to Christus, he will see that 
there are three parts to that work : TIis Divine Tragedy, 
which deals with the life and death of the Saviour ; The 
Golden Legend, which has to do with Christianity in the 
middle ages ; and The Neiv England Tragedies, in which 
the poet seems to show Christianity just breaking away 
from the last great superstition which it was to encounter, 
and from the spirit of persecution which had blocked its 
progress. Each of these parts is introduced by a pro- 
logue or poetical preface. Probably Mr. Longfellow in- 
tended in The Challenge of Thor to illustrate the last 
stronghold of European paganism about to be overcome 
by the church. But he changed his mind, wrote another 
prologue to The Golden Legend, and laid The Challenge 
of Thor aside. 

Ten years more passed, and in 1859 he writes in his 
diary : " The thought struck me this morning [February 
25] that a very good poem might be written on the Saga 
of King Olaf, who converted the North to Christianity. 
Read the old Saga in the Heimskringla, Laing's transla- 
tion. The Challenge of Thor will serve as a prelude." 
Nearly two years passed before he took up the task in 
earnest ; then, in November, 1860, " with all kinds of in- 
terruptions," he says, he wrote fifteen of the lyrics in as 
many days, and a few days afterward completed the 
whole of the Saga. 

Why did he not then publish The Saga of King Olaf, 
since it was finished? The last volume which he had 
put forth was The Courtship of Miles Standish, and 
other Poems, in 1858. Perhaps he thought the Saga not 
quite enough of a book by itself, and waited until he 
should gather enough separate poems to fill out a vol- 



INTRODUCTION. T 

ume. The Atlaiitio Monthly had been started in the 
fall of 1857, and he found it a convenient magazine in 
which to make first trial of his new poems. Just when 
he determined upon the framework of The Waijside Inn 
does not appear ; it is quite possible that he had con- 
nected The Saga of Kmg Olaf, which had been lying 
by for two or three years, with his friend Ole Bull, and 
that the desire to use so picturesque a figure had sug- 
gested a group of which the musician should be one. 
Literature had notable precedents for the general plan 
of a company at an inn, but whether the actual inn at 
Sudbury came to localize his conception, or was itself the 
cause of the plan, is not quite clear. He notes in his 
diary, October 11, 1862, " Write a little upon the Way- 
side Inn, — a beginning only ; " but an entry for the last 
day of the same month seems to indicate that he had had 
the Sudbury inn in his mind, and now visited it to give 
local form and color to his fancy. 

October ends with a delicious Indian-summer day. Drive 
with Fields to the old Red-Horse Tavern in Sudbury, — alas, 
no longer an inn. A lovely valley ; the winding road shaded 
by grand old oaks before the house. A rambling, tumble- 
down old building, two hundred years old, and till now in 
the family of the Howes, who have kept an inn for one hun- 
dred and seventy-five years. In the old time, it was a house 
of call for all travellers from Boston westward. 

As such, Mr. Longfellow must have made passing ac- 
quaintance with the tavern when, in 1826, he made a 
stage-coach journey from Boston to Albany ; he may also 
well have known the inn in its more recent days through 
report of his friend Dr. Parsons and Mr. Luigi Monti, 
who made it a resort for themselves and friends. At 
any rate his intention was now clear enough, for a few 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

clays after his visit he writes to his companion, Mr. 
Fields, " The Sudhury Tales go on famously. I have 
now five comj^lete, with a great part of the Prelude.'''' 

The work went on rapidly after this, for, with The 
Saga of King Olaf and other poems on hand, he 
needed to write but little more to furnish the groujD 
he had fashioned with tales enough to represent them. 
He sent the book to the printer in April, 1863, under 
the title of The Sudhury Tales, but in August wrote to 
Mr. Fields : " I am afraid we have made a mistake in 
calling the new volume The Sudhury Tales. Now that 
I see it announced, I do not like the title. Sumner cries 
out against it, and has persuaded me, as I think he will 
you, to come back to The Wayside Inn. Pray think as 
we do." Very likely he did not wish to suggest by his 
title the great prototype of his work. The Canterhury 
Tales of Chaucer. 

The book as originally planned consisted of the first 
part, and was published November 25, 1863, in an edi- 
tion of fifteen thousand copies, an indication of the con- 
fidence which the publishers had in the poet's popularity. 

The disguises of characters were so slight that readers 
easily recognized most of them at once, and Mr. Long- 
fellow himself never made any mystery of their identity. 
Just after the publication of the volume he wrote to a 
correspondent in England : — 

The Wayside Inn has more foundation in fact than you 
may suppose. The town of Sudbury is about twenty miles 
from Cambridge. Some two hundred years ago, an English 
family, by the name of Howe, built there a country house, 
which has remained in the family down to the present time, 
the last of the race dying but two years ago. Losing their 
fortune, they became inn-keepers ; and for a century the 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

Red-Horse Inn has flourished, going down from father to 
son. The place is just as I have described it, though no 
longer an inn. All this will account for the landlord's coat- 
of-arms, and his being a justice of the peace, and his being 
known as "the Squire," — things that must sound strange in 
English ears. All the characters are real. The musician is 
Ole Bull ; the Spanish Jew, Israel Edrehi [a dealer in 
Oriental stuffs, in Boston], whom I have seen as I have 
painted him, etc. etc. 

It is easy to fill up the etc. of Mr. Longfellow's cata- 
logue. The poet is T. W. Parsons, the translator of 
Dante ; the Sicilian, Luigi Monti, whose name occurs 
often in Mr. Longfellow's Life as a familiar friend, a 
political exile who made his residence in America, and 
for a short time went back as consul to Palermo ; the 
theologian, Professor Daniel Treadvvell, a physicist of 
genius who had also a turn for theology ; the student, 
Henry Ware Wales, a scholar of promise who had 
travelled much, who died early, and whose tastes ap- 
pear in the collection of books which he left to the 
library of Harvard College. This group was collected 
by the poet's fancy ; in point of fact three of them, 
Parsons, Monti, and Treadwell, were wont to spend 
their summer months at the inn. 

The form was so agreeable that it was easy to extend 
it afterward so as to include the tales which the poet 
found it in his mind to write. The Second Day was 
published as one of the Three Books of Song in 1872 ; 
The Third Part formed the principal portion of After- 
math in 1873, and subsequently the three parts were 
brought together into a complete volume. The third 
part, begun on the last day of December, 1872, was 
finished on his sixty-sixth birthday, February 27, 1873. 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

The recital in melodious verse of those various stories, 
which had a special diarm for the poet as he grew older, 
and the graceful, easy, half careless arrangement of all 
as the imaginary discourse of friends, was a diversion as 
well as a poetic task to one whose own experience had 
in a measure withdrawn him from the free, happy social 
intercourse of his manhood. When one considers the 
dates of the earlier formation of the Tales of a Way- 
side Inn, one sees with what exclusion of his deeper self 
the poet entered in sj)irit into the story-telling company 
that warmed itself before Squire Howe's blazing logs. 
It was at the same time that he was entrusting himself 
to the ghostly companionshlj) of Dante. 

The persons who were charged with the story-telling 
were so individualized by nationality or profession as to 
afford a generous sco])e in the character of the tales. 
By means of a Norwegian musician the poet was en- 
abled to draw upon his knowledge of Northern legend ; 
his Sicilian may well, in person, have reminded him of 
the stones which had their origin in Boccaccio or in 
Italian folk-lore ; the Spanish Jew gave him an ojipor- 
tunity to draw upon the Talmud, which his friend Mr. 
Emnumuel Vitalis Scherb had opened to his view ; and 
the Poet, the Student, and the Landlord increased the 
range of his material. The only story which was 
wholly of Mr. Longfellow's invention was The Birds of 
Kill'nKjworth. The others, as will be indicated when 
they are introduced, were based on stories in one lan- 
guage or another. 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

PART FIRST. 
PRELUDE. 

THE WAYSIDE INN. 

As was intimated in the Introduction, the framework of these 
Tales was not Mr. Longfellow's invention. The most notable 
illustration in English literature is of course Chaucer's The Can- 
terbury Tales. Hogg- in The Queen's Wake, Moore in Lalla Rookh, 
Crabbe in Tales of the Hall, Clough in Mari Magno, have all em- 
ployed apparatus of a somewhat similar nature, and an agreeable 
illustration in American literature will be found in Whittier's 
IVie Tent on the Beach. 

One Autumn nij^ht, in Sudbury town, 
Across the meadows bare and brown, 
The windows of the wayside inn 
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves 
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves, 
Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 
As any in the land may be, 
Built in the old Colonial day, 
10 When men lived in a grander way, 
With ampler hospitality ; 

9. The Red-Horse Inn at Sudbury was built about 168G. An afrreeable ac- 
co\int of the house in the days of the poem may be foimd in Old Landmarks 
find HUtoric Fields oj Middlesex, by SAMUEt Adams Dbakb. 



12 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 
Now somewhat fallen to decay, 
With weather-stains upon the wall, 
15 And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 
And creaking and uneven floors. 
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. 

A region of repose it seems, 

A place of slumber and of dreams, 

20 Remote among the wooded hills ! 
For there no noisy railway speeds, 
Its torch-race scattering smoke and gleeds ; 
But noon and night the panting teams 
Stop under the great oaks, that throw 

25 Tangles of light and shade below, 
On roofs and doors and window-sills. 
Across the road the barns display 
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay. 
Through the wide doors the breezes blow, 

30 The wattled cocks strut to and fro. 
And, half effaced by rain and shine. 
The Red Horse prances on the sign. 
Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deej) silence reigned, save when a gust 

35 "Went rushing down the county road. 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 
A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced their dance of death, 

22. A Chaucerian word. See The Knight's Tale (line 1997 of The Canter- 
bury Tales). - . 

" The crueel ire, reed as any gleede," 
that is, live coal. 

3S. A favorite siibjert for artists in the middle ages was the Dance of 
Death, a reminder that Deatli follows all sorts of person?. The most famous 
of works, bearing this title, was a series of woodcuts by Hans Holbein. 



PRELUDE. 13 

And through the ancient oaks o'erhead 
40 Mysterious voices moaned and fled. 

But from the parlor of the inn 
A pleasant murnmr smote the ear, 
Like water rushing through a weir : 
Oft interrupted by the din 

45 Of laughter and of loud applause, 
And, in each intervening pause, 
The music of a violin. 
The fire-light, shedding over all 
The splendor of its ruddy glow, 

60 Filled the whole parlor large and low ; 
It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, 
It touched with more than wonted grace 
Fair Princess Mary's pictured face ; 
It bronzed the rafters overhead, 

65 On the old spinet's ivory keys 
It played inaudible melodies. 
It crowned the sombre clock with flame, 
The hands, the hours, the maker's name, 
And painted with a livelier red 

60 The Landlord's coat-of-arms again ; 
And, flashing on the window-pane, 
Emblazoned with its light and shade 
The jovial rhymes, that still remain, 
Writ near a century ago, 

C3. The lines are as follows : — 

What do you think ? 

Here is good drink, 
Perhaps you may not know it ; 

If not in haste. 

Do stop and taste ! 
You merry folk will show it, . : 



14 TALES OF A WAYSIDE I NX. 

66 By the great Major Molineaux, 

Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

Before the blazing fire of wood 

Erect the rapt musician stood ; 

And ever and anon he bent 
70 His head upon his instrument, 

And seemed to listen, till he caught 

Confessions of its secret thought, — 

The joy, the triumph, the lament, 

The exultation and the pain ; 
75 Then, by the magic of his art, 

He soothed the throbbings of its heart, 

And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at their ease 
There sat a group of friends, entranced 

80 With the delicious melodies ; 
Who from the far-off noisy town 
Had to the wayside inn come down, 
To rest beneath its old oak trees. 
The fire-light on their faces glanced, 

85 Their shadows on the wainscot danced, 
And, though of different lands and speech, 
Each had his tale to tell, and each 
Was anxious to be pleased and please, 

65. On another pane appears the major's name, William Molineitx Jr. esq., 
and the date, June 24, 1774, The allusion is to Hawthorne's tale My Kins, 
man, Major Molineux, in The Snow Image and other Twice-Told Tales. 
Names having tliis termination are frequently written either with eux or eaux 
in New England. Devereux and Devereaux is another example. Hawthorne, 
writing to Longfellow after the publication of the Tales of a Wayside Inn, 
says : " It gratifies my mind to find my own name shining in your verse, 
even as if I had been gazing up at the moon and detected my own features in 
its profile," 



PRELUDE. 15 

And while the sweet musician plays, 
90 Let me in outline sketch them all, 
Perchance uncouthly as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the wall. 

But first the Landlord will I trace ; 
96 Grave in his aspect and attire ; 

A man of ancient pedigree, 

A Justice of the Peace was he, 

Known in all Sudbury as " The Squire." 

Proud was he of his name and race, 
100 Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 

And in the parlor, full in view, 

His coat-of-arras, well framed and glazed. 

Upon the wall in colors blazed ; 

He beareth gules upon his shield, 
105 A chevron argent in the field. 

With three wolf's heads, and for the crest 

A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed 

Upon a helmet barred ; below 

The scroll reads, " By the name of Howe." 
110 And over this, no longer bright, 

Though glimmering with a latent light. 

Was hung the sword his grandsire bore 

In the rebellious days of yore, 

Down there at Concord in the fight. 

116 A youth was there, of quiet ways, 
A Student of old books and days, 
To whom all tongues and lands were known, 
And yet a lover of his own ; 
With many a social virtue graced, 



IG TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

120 And yet a friend of solitude ; 
A man of such a genial mood 
The heart of all things he embraced, 
And yet of such fastidious taste, 
He never found the best too good. 
125 Books were his passion and delight, 
And in his upper room at home 
Stood many a rare and sumptuous tome, 
In vellum bound, with gold bedight, 
Great volumes garmented in white, 
130 Recalling Florence, Pisa, Rome. 
He loved the twilight that surrounds 
The border-land of old romance ; 
Where glitter hauberk, helm, and lance, 
And banner waves, and trumpet sounds, 
135 And ladies ride with hawk on wrist, 
And mighty warriors sweep along, 
Magnified by the purple mist, 
The dusk of centuries and of song. 
The chronicles of Charlemagne, 
140 Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, 
Mingled together in his brain 
With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, 
Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, 

139. Mr, Longfellow has given the student a glimpse of this literature in his 
prose paper, Ancient French Romances. 

140. A convenient prose version of these stories will be found in Sidney La- 
nier's The Boys'' King Arthur, published by Charles Scribner's Sons, but the 
student is advised to have recourse to the standard version in old English by 
Sir Thomas Malory. This was the work which furnished Tennyson with much 
of the material for his Idyls of the King. 

142. Told by Boccaccio in his Philopoco, Chaucer uses the same story in his 
The Franklin'' s Tale in The Canterbury Tales. 

143. Sir Ferumbras is the hero of an old English metrical romance of the 
same name. See Ellis's Specimens of Early English Metrical Bomances, ii. 
The French form, Fierabras, appears in the chronicles of Charlemagne. 
The other characters named in- this and the next two lines occur In the Arthu- 
rian romances. 



PRELUDE. 17 

Sir Launcelot, ^ir Morgadour, 
145 Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. 

A young Sicilian, too, was there ; 

In sight of Etna born and bred. 

Some breath of its volcanic air 

Was glowing in his heart and brain, 
150 And, being rebellious to his liege. 

After Palermo's fatal siege, 

Across the western seas he fled. 

In good King Bomba's hapj)y reign. 

His face was like a summer night, 
1155 All flooded with a dusky light ; 

His hands were small ; his teeth shone white 

As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ; 

His sinews supple and strong as oak ; 

Clean shaven was he as a priest, 
160 Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 

Save that upon his upper lip 

His beard, a good palm's length at least, 

Level and pointed at the tip, 

Sliot sideways, like a swallow's wings. 
165 The poets read he o'er and o'er, 

And most of all the Immortal Four 

Of Italy ; and next to those. 

The story-telling bard of prose. 

Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales 
170 Of the Decameron, that make 

170. Decameron is a Greek compound signifying ten days. The famous 
Italian work so named consists of a hundred tales supposed to be related in the 
afternoons of ten days by a party of young men and women gathered in a 
country house in Fiesole, to v/hich they had fled to escape the plague which 
raged in Florence in 1348. It ia a storehouse ixovQ which Shakespeare and 
other poots have drawn freely. 



18 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

Fiesole's green hills and vales 

Remembered for Boccaccio's sake. 

Much, too, of music was his thought ; 

The melodies and measures fraught 
175 With sunshine and the open air, 

Of vineyards and the singing sea 

Of his beloved Sicily ; 

And much it pleased him to peruse 

The songs of the Sicilian snuse, — 
180 Bucolic songs by Meli sung 

In the familiar peasant tongue, 

That made men say, " Behold ! once more 

The pitying gods to earth restore 

Theocritus of Syracuse ! " 

185 A Spanish Jew from Alicant 

With aspect grand and grave was there ; 
Vender of silks and fabrics rare. 
And attar of rose from the Levant. 
Like an old Patriarch he appeared, 

190 Abraham or Isaac, or at least 

Some later Prophet or High-Priest ; 
With lustrous eyes, and olive skin. 
And, wildly tossed fi^om cheeks and chin, 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 

195 His garments breathed a spicy scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent. 
Like the soft aromatic gales 

180. Mr. Longfellow translated one of the songs by Giovanni Meli. It is en- 
titled Tell me, tell me, thou pretty Bee, and may be found in the Riverside 
Edition of Longfellow's Poetical Works, vol. vi. page 433. See, also, his 
article. History of the Italian Language and Dialects, in The North American 
Review, October, 1S32. 

184. An interesting comparison of Tlieocritus with Tennyson will be found 
in E. C. Stedman's Victorian Poets. 



PRELUDE. 19 

That meet the mariner, who sails 

Through the Mohiccas, and the seas 
200 That wash the shores of Celebes. 

All stories that recorded are 

By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, 

And it was rumored he could say 

The Parables of Sandabar, 
205 And all the Fables of Pilpay, 

Or if not all, the greater part ! 

Well versed was he in Hebrew books, 

Talmud and Targum, and the lore 

Of Kabala ; and evermore 
210 There was a mystery in his looks ; 

His eyes seemed gazing far away, 

As if in vision or in trance 

He heard the solemn sackbut play, 

And saw the Jewish maidens dance. 

215 A Theologian, from the school 

Of Cambridge on the Charles, was there ; 

Skilful alike with tongue and pen, 

He preached to all men everywhere 

The Gospel of the Golden Rule, 
220 The New Commandment given to men, 

Thinking the deed, and not the creed, 

Would help us in our utmost need. 

With reverent feet the earth he trod, 

Nor banished nature from his plan, 
226 But studied still with deep research 

To build the Universal Church, 

215. Daniel Treadwell was Professor of Physics in Harvard College. A 
pleasing biographical sketch of the man, by his friend Dr. Merrill Wyman, 
may be found in The Atlantic Monthly, xxxii. 470 (October, 1873). 



20 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Lofty as in the love of God, 
And amrile as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse 

230 Was tender, musical, and terse ; 
The insph^ation, the delight, 
The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, 
Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem 
The revelations of a dream, — 

235 All these were his ; but with them came 
No envy of another's fame ; 
He did not find his sleep less sweet 
For music in some neighboring street, 
Nor rustling hear in every breeze 

240 The laurels of Miltiades. 

Honor and blessings on his head 
While living, good rejDort when dead, 
Who, not too eager for renown. 
Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown ! 

245 Last the Musician, as he stood 

IHumined by that fire of wood ; 

Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect blithe, 

His figure tall and straight and lithe, 

And every feature of his face 
250 Revealing his Norwegian race ; 

A radiance, streaming from within, 

Around his eyes and forehead beamed, 

The Angel with the violin, 

Painted by Raphael, he seemed. 

240. Plutarch, in his Life of Themistocles, relates that the Athenian was 
greatly stirred by the fame of Miltiades, who had won the great battle of 
Marathon. " The trophy of Miltiades," he said, "would not let him sleep." 

245. Ole Bull, a 3Iemoi7\ by Sara C. Bull, is the title of an interesting 
volume on the famous Norwegian musician. 



PRELUDE. 21 

255 He lived in that ideal world 

Whose language is not speech, but song ; 
Around him evermore the throng 
Of elves and sprites their dances whirled ; 
The Stromkarl sang, the cataract liurled 

260 Its headlong waters from the height ; 
And mingled in the wild delight 
The scream of sea-birds in their flight, 
The rumor of the forest trees, 
The plunge of the implacable seas, 

285 The tumult of the wind at night, 
Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, 
Old ballads, and wild- melodies 
Through mist and darkness pouring forth, 
Like Elivagar's river flowing 

270 Out of the glaciers of the North. 

The instrument on which he played 

Was in Cremona's workshops made, 

By a great master of the past, 

Ere yet was lost the art divine; 
275 Fashioned of maple and of pine. 

That in Tyrolean forests vast 

Had rocked and wrestled with the blast : 

Exquisite was it in design, 

Perfect in each minutest part, 
280 A marvel of the lutist's art ; 

259. Stromkarl, genius of the river. 

2G9. Elivagar, in Scandinavian mythology, is the cold, venomous stream 
which issues from Niflheim, or vapor-home, the region of endless cold and 
everlasting night. 

272. The most famous violins were made in Cremona, Italy, in the seven- 
teenth century. Among the makers were Andrea Amati and his sou Antonio, 
his pupil Antonius Stradivarius, and Giuseppe Guarnerius, the pupil of 
Stradivariua. 



22 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And in its hollow chamber, thus, 
The maker from whose hands it came 
Had written his unrivalled name, — 
" Antonius Stradivarius." 

285 And when he played, the atmosi3here 
Was filled with magic, and the ear 
Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, 
Whose music had so weird a sound, 
The hunted stag forgot to bound, 

290 The leaping rivulet backward rolled. 

The birds came down from bush and tree, 
The dead came from beneath the sea, 
The maiden to the harper's knee ! 

The music ceased ; the applause was loud, 
295 The pleased musician smiled and bowed ; 
The wood-fire clapped its hands of flame, 
The shadows on the wainscot stirred. 
And from the harpsichord there came 
A ghostly murmur of acclaim, 
300 A sound like that sent down at night 
By birds of passage in their flight. 
From the remotest distance heard. 

Then silence followed ; then began 
A clamor for the Landlord's tale, -r— 

305 The story promised them of old. 
They said, but ahvays left untold ; 
And he, although a bashful man, 
And all his courage seemed to fail, 
Finding excuse of no avail, 

310 Yielded ; and thus the story ran. 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 23 

THE LANDLORD'S TALE. 

PAUL EEVERE's ride. 

In Mr. Longfellow's diary, under date of April 5, 1860, is the 
entry; " Go with Sumner [George, the brother of Charles] to Mr. 

H , of the North End, who acts as guide to the ' Little 

Britain' of Boston. [Readers will recall Washington Irving' s 
sketch of Little Britain in his The Sketch Book.] We go to the 
Copps Hill bmial-gTound and see the tomb of Cotton Mather, his 
father and his son ; then to the Old North Church, which looks 
like a parish church in London. We climb the tower to the 
chime of bells, now the home of innumerable pigeons. From 
this tower were hung the lanterns as a signal that the British 
troops had left Boston for Concord. ' ' The next day Mr. Long- 
fellow set up his poem of Paul Revere' s Ride, and on the 19th 
noted in his diary : "I wrote a few lines in Paul Revere' s Ride, 
this being the day of that achievement." The poem was first 
j)ublished in The Atlantic Monthly, and at once became very 
popular. 

Mr. George Sumner was a man of very varied knoAvledge, and 
he may have given to Mr. Longf elloAV the material for the story, 
as it was by his invitation that the poet made the visit to the 
North End. The incident is related by Paul Revere in a letter to 
Dr. Jeremy Belknap, printed in Mass. Hist. Coll. v., and again, 
more carefully, in the same society's Proceedings, November, 1878. 
Mr. Richard Frothinghain, in his History of the Siege of Boston, 
pjj. 57-59, gives the story mainly according to a memorandum of 
ttichard Devens, Revere' s friend and associate. By reference to 
[ these narratives, which are the chief authority for the story, it 
' will be seen in what particulars Mr. Longfellow de\dated from the 
historic facts, and it would be a good exercise for a student to 
make this comparison. 

A long dispute has been held over the church from which the 
signals were displayed. There was a North Meeting Hous3 in 
North Square, which was pulled down during the siege of Boston 
for fuel. Mr. Frothingham maintained that this was the Old 
North, but others stoutly claimed the honor for Christ Church, 



24 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

which was popularly called the North Church. The city authori- 
ties in Boston caused a tablet to be placed on the front of the 
church October 17, 1878, Avith this inscrii^tion : "The sig-nal 
lanterns of Paul Revere displayed in the steeple of this Church, 
April IS, 1775, warned the country of the march of the British 
troops to Lexington and Concord." 

It would be an interesting- study to take the several authorities, 
pro and con, and debate this question. A list of these authorities 
will be found in The Memorial History of Boston, iii. 101, and to 
the list may be added Recollections of Samuel Breck, p. 41, and 
Rambles in Old Boston, N. E., by Edward G. Porter, the latter 
book being a full and attractive study of the North End of Bos- 
ton. The poem, indeed, offers abundant opportunities for special 
historical studies. Who was the friend who hung out the lan- 
terns ? What was Paul Revere' s own history ? What did the 
patriots think was the purpose of the secret expedition of the 
British ? The story of the early morning at Lexington and of 
the Concord fight can never be retold too often, and Emerson 
and Lowell, as well as other poets, have contributed to the litera- 
ture of the 19th of April. The student who wishes to see how 
carefully Mr. Longfellow scanned his own verse will do well to 
compare this text, which is his latest, with the original form in 
the Atlantic. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 
Hardly a man is now alive 
5 Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, " If the British march 
By land or sea from the tov/n to-night, 

7. If they went by land th?y would needs have crossed Boston Neck and 
marched by Roxbiiry and Brcokline to Cambridge, there being then no bridge 
across the Charles River below the present one which connects Cambridge, at 
the end of Bcylston Street, with the Brighton shore. If by sea, as they did 
go, the course was in boats from the barracks at the foot of the Common 
acrcss the Back Bay and. Charles River to Charlestown. This was clearly the 
least conspicuous way. 



PAUL REVERE' S RIDE. 25 

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 

Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 

10 One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will be. 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every INIiddlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

15 Then he said, " Good night ! " and with muffled oar 
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
Just as the moon rose over the bay. 
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 
The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 

20 A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 
Across the moon like a prison bar. 
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, 

25 Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers, 

30 Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North 

Church, 
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeons from their perch 
33 On the sombre rafters, tliat round him made 

34. A reference to thc^ Introduction will show how Mr. Longfellow cams to 
writs this and the next two lines. 



26 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall. 
Where he jmiised to listen and look down 

40 A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 
Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deej^ and still 

45 That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent. 
And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 
A moment only he feels the spell 

50 Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 
Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
On a shadowy something far away. 
Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

56 A line of black that bends and floats 
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 

60 Now he patted his horse's side, 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he watched witli eager search 

65 The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 



PAUL RE VERB'S RIDE. 27 

And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 

A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
70 He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 

But lingers and gazes, till fall on his sight 

A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
76 And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 

Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 

That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the 
light, 

The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 

And the spark struck out by that steed, in his 
flight, 
80 Kindled the land into flame witli its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 

And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 

And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
85 Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 

Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock, 
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
90 And the barking of the farmer's dog. 
And felt the damp of the river fog, 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock. 
When he galloped into Lexington. 
95 He saw the gilded weathercock 
Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 



28 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 

As if they already stood aghast 
ICO At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock. 

And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
105 And felt the breath of the morning breeze 

Blowing over the meadows brown. 

And one was safe and asleep in his bed 

Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 

Who that day would be lying dead, 
110 Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wail, 
116 Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 

120 And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
To every Middlesex village and farm, — 
A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
And a word that shall echo for evermore ! 

125 For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 



INTERLUDE. 29 

The people will waken and listen to hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
130 And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 



INTERLUDE. 

The Landlord ended thus his tale, 
Then rising took down from its nail 
The sword that hung there, dim with dust, 
And cleaving to its sheath with rust, 

B And said, " This sword was in the fight." 

The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, 
" It is the sword of a good knight, 
Though homespun was his coat-of-mail ; 
What matter if it be not named 

10 Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, 
Excalibar, or Aroundight, 
Or other name the books record ? 
Your ancestor, who bore this sword 
As Colonel of the Volunteers, 

15 Mounted upon his old gray mare, 
Seen here and there and everywhere, 
To me a grander shape appears 
Than old Sir William, or what not, 
Clinking about in foreio-n lands 

20 With iron gauntlets on his hands, 
And on his head an iron pot ! " 



10. La Joyeuse was the sword of Charlemagne, according to the romances 
of chivalry. Colada was one of the swords of the Cid of Spain. Durindale was 
said to hj,ve been wrought by fairies, and to have belonged to Orlando, the 
nephew of Charlemagne. 

11. Excalibar was King Arthur's sword, and Aroundight Launcelot's. 



30 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

All laughed ; the Landlord's face grew red 
As his escutcheon on the wall ; 
He could not comprehend at all 

25 The drift of what the Poet said ; 
For those who had been longest dead 
Were always greatest in his eyes ; 
And he was speechless with surprise 
To see Sir William's plumed head 

30 Brought to a level with the rest, 
And made the subject of a jest. 
And this perceiving, to appease 
The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears, 
The Student said, with careless ease : 

35 " The ladies and the cavaliers, 
The arms, the loves, the courtesies, 
The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! 
Thus Ariosto says, in words 
That have the stately stride and ring 

40 Of armed knights and clashing swords. 
Now listen to the tale I bring ; 
Listen ! though not to me belong 
The flowing draperies of his song, 
The words that rouse, the voice that charms. 

45 The Landlord's tale was one of arms ; 
Only a tale of love is mine, 
Blending the human and divine, 
A tale of the Decameron, told 
In Palmieri's garden old, 

80 By Fiametta, laurel-crowned. 
While her companions lay around, 
And heard the intermingled sound 
Of airs that on their errands sped. 
And wild birds gossiping overhead. 



THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 31 

55 And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall, 
And her own voice more sweet than all, 
Telling the tale, which, wanting these, 
Perchance may lose its power to please." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 

This story, as indicated by the poet, is from Boccaccio's Decam- 
eron, fifth day, ninth tale. As Boccaccio, however, was not the 
first to tell it, so Mr. Longfellow is not the only one after him to 
repeat it. The story appears to have an Eastern origin, for it is 
found in a collection of Sanskrit fables. It made its way to Eu- 
rope through Persian and Arabic translations. There have been 
fresh associations from time to time between Italy and the East. 
and Boccaccio may easily have known the tale as one floating 
about without recognized origin. La Fontaine includes it in his 
Contes et Nouvelles, under the title of Le Faucon, and Tennyson 
makes it the basis of his drama The Falcon. In very brief form 
the tale is found in Gesta Eojnanorum, Tale LXXXIV. 

One summer morning, when the sun was hot, 
Weary with labor in his garden-plot, 
On ^ rude bench beneath his cottage eaves, 
Ser Federigo sat among the leaves 
e Of a huge vine, that, with its arms outspread, 
Hung its delicious clusters overhead. 
Belo^v him, through the lovely valley, flowed 
The river Arno, like a winding road, 
And from its banks were lifted high in air 
10 The spires and roofs of Florence called the Fair ; 
To him a marble tomb, that rose above 

4. Ser is a contraction of Messer, which corresponds with the English Mr. 
when that title is uaed to distinguish a gentleman. 



32 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

His wasted fortunes and his buried love. 
For there, in banquet and in tournament, 
His wealth had lavished been, his substance spent, 
15 To woo and lose, since ill his wooing sped, 
Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed. 
Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme. 
The ideal woman of a young man's dream. 

Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, 
20 To this small farm, the last of his domain, 
His only comfort and his only care 
To prune his vines, and plant the fig and j^ear ; 
His only forester and only guest 
His falcon, faithful to him, when the rest, 
25 Whose willing hands had found so light of yore 
The brazen knocker of his palace door. 
Had now no strength to lift the wooden latch, 
That entrance gave beneath a roof of thatch. 
Companion of his solitary ways, 
30 Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, 
On him this melancholy man bestowed 
The love with which his nature overflowed. 

And so the empty-handed years went round. 
Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic sound, 

35 And so, that summer morn, he sat and mused 
With folded, patient hands, as he was used, 
And dreamily before his half -closed sight 
Floated the vision of his lost delight. 
Beside him, motionless, the drowsy bird 

40 Dreamed of the chase, and in his slumber heard 
The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, that dare 
The headlong plunge through eddying gulfs of ail', 



THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 33 

Then, starting broad awake upon his perch, 
Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a church, 
45 And looking at his master, seemed to say, 
" Ser Federigo, shall we hunt to-day ? " 

Ser Federigo thought not of the chase ; 
The tender vision of her lovely face, 
I will not say he seems to see, he sees 

50 In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, 
Herself, yet not herself ; a lovely child 
With flowing tresses, and eyes wide and wild, 
Coming undaunted up the garden walk. 
And looking not at him, but at the hawk. 

55 " Beautiful falcon ! " said he, " would that 1 . 
Might hold thee on my wrist, or see thee fly ! " 
The voice was hers, and made strange echoes start 
Through all the haunted chambers of his heart, 
As an aeolian harp through gusty doors 

60 Of some old ruin its wild music pours. 

*' Who is thy mother, my fair boy ? " he said. 
His hand laid softly on that shining head. 
*' Monna Giovanna. Will you let me stay 
A little while, and with your falcon play ? 

65 We live there, just beyond your garden wall. 
In the great house behind the poplars tall." 

So he spake on ; and Federigo heard 
As from afar each softly uttered word, 
And drifted onward through the golden gleams 
70 And shadows of the misty sea of dreams, 
As mariners becalmed through vapors drift, 
And feel the sea beneath them sink and lift. 
And hear far off the mournful breakers roar, 



34 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And voices calling faintly from the shore ! 
75 Then waking from his pleasant reveries, 
He took the little boy upon his knees, 
And told him stories of his gallant bird, 
Till in their friendship he became a third. 

Monna Giovanna, widowed in her prime, 

80 Had come with friends to pass the summer time 
In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, 
O'eriooking Florence, but retired and still ; 
With iron gates, that opened through long lines 
Of sacred ilex and centennial pines, 

86 And terraced gardens, and broad steps of stone. 
And sylvan deities, with moss o'ergrown. 
And fountains palpitating in the heat. 
And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath its feet. 
Here in seclusion, as a widow may, 

90 The lovely lady whiled the hours away, 
Pacing in sable robes the statued hall. 
Herself the stateliest statue among all, 
And seeing more and more, with secret joy, 
Her husband risen and living in her boy, 

95 Till the lost sense of life returned again, 
Not as delight, but as relief from pain. 
Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his strength, 
Stormed down the terraces from length to length 
The screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit, 
100 And climbed the garden trellises for fruit. 
But his chief pastime was to v.^ateh the flight 
Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight. 
Beyond the trees that fringed the garden wall. 
Then downward stooping at some distant call ; 
105 And as he gazed full often wondered he 



THE FALCON OF SEE FEDERIGO. 35 

Who might the master of the falcon he, 
Until that happy morning, when he found 
Master and falcon in the cottage ground. 

And now a shadow and a terror fell 

110 On the great house, as if a passing-bell 

Tolled from the tower, and filled each spacious room 
With secret awe and preternatural gloom ; 
The petted boy grew ill, and day by day 
Pined with mysterious malady away. 

115 The mother's heart would not be comforted ; 
Her darling seemed to her already dead. 
And often, sitting by the sufferer's side, 
" What can I do to comfort thee ? " she cried. . 
At first the silent lips made no reply, 

120 But, moved at length by her importunate cry, 
" Give me," he answered, with imploring tone, 
" Ser Federigo's falcon for my own I " 
No answer could the astonished mother make ; 
How could she ask, e'en for her darling's sake, 

125 Such favor at a luckless lover's hand. 

Well knowing that to ask was to command ? 
Well knowing, what all falconers confessed, 
In all the land that falcon was the best. 
The master's pride and passion and delight, 

130 And the sole pursuivant of this poor knight. 
But yet, for her child's sake, she could no less 
Than give assent, to soothe his restlessness, 
So promised, and then promising to keep 
Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep. 

135 The morrow was a bright September morn ; 
The earth was beautiful as if new-born ; 



36 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

There was that nameless splendor everywhere, 

That wild exhilaration in the air, 

Which makes the passers in the city street 

140 Congratulate each other as they meet. 

Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and hood, 
Passed through the garden gate into the wood, 
Under the lustrous leaves, and through the sheen 
Of deMy sunshine showering down between. 

145 The one, close-hooded, had the attractive grace 
Which sorrow sometimes lends a woman's face ; 
Her dark eyes moistened with the mists that roll 
From the gulf-stream of passion in the soul ; 
The other with her hood thrown back, her hair 

160 Making a golden glory in the air, 

Her cheeks suffused with an auroral blush. 

Her young heart singing louder than the thrush. 

So walked, that morn, through mingled light and 

shade, 
Each by the other's presence lovelier made, 

166 Monna Giovanna and her bosom-friend, • 

Intent upon their errand and its end. 

They found Ser Federigo at his toil. 
Like banished Adam, delving in the soil ; 
And when he looked and these fair women spied, 
160 The garden suddenly was glorified ; 
His long-lost Eden was restored again. 
And the strange river winding through the jDlain 
No longer was the Arno to his eyes. 
But the Euphrates watering Paradise ! 

165 Monna Giovanna raised her stately head, 
And with fair words of salutation said : 



THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 37 

" Ser Federigo, \ve come here as friends, 
Hoping in this to make some poor amends 
For past unkindness. I who ne'er before 

170 Would even cross the threshold of your door, 
I who in happier days such pride maintained, 
Refused your banquets, and your gifts disdained, 
This morning come, a self-invited guest. 
To put your generous nature to the test, 

175 And breakfast with you under your own vine." 
To which he answered : " Poor desert of mine, 
Not your unkindness call it, for if aught 
Is good in me of feeling or of thought. 
From you it comes, and this last grace outweighs 

180 All sorrows, all regrets of other days." 

And after further compliment and talk, 
Among the asters in the garden walk 
He left his guests ; and to his cottage turned, 
And as he entered for a moment yearned 

185 For the lost splendors of the days of old, 
The ruby glass, the silver and the gold, 
And felt how piercing is the sting of pride, 
By want embittered and intensified. 
He looked about him for some means or way 

190 To keep this unexpected holiday ; 

Searched every cupboard, and then searched again, 
Summoned the maid, who came, but came in vain ; 
" The Signor did not hunt to-day," she said, 
" There 's nothing in the house but wine and bread." 

195 Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook 
His little bells, with that sagacious look, 
Which said, as plain as language to the ear, 
" If anything is wanting, I am here ! " 



38 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Yes, everything is wanting, gallant bird ! 

200 The master seized thee without further word. 

Like thine own lure, he whirled thee round ; ah me ! 
The pomp and flutter of brave falconry, 
The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet hood. 
The flight and the pursuit o'er field and wood, 

205 All these f orevermore are ended now ; 
No longer victor, but the victim thou ! 

Then on the board a snow-white cloth he spread, 
Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of bread. 
Brought jDurple grapes with autumn sunshine hot, 
210 The fragrant peach, the juicy bergamot ; 
Then in the midst a flask of wine he placed 
And with autumnal flowers the banquet graced. 
Ser Federigo, v/ould not these suffice 
Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves and spice ? 

215 When all was ready, and the courtly dame 

With her companion to the cottage came, 

Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell 

The wild enchantment of a magic spell ! 

The room they entered, mean and low and small, 
220 Was changed into a sumptuous banquet-hall. 

With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown ; 

The rustic chair she sat on was a throne ; 

He ate celestial food, and a divine 

Flavor was given to his country wine, 
225 And the poor falcon, fragrant with his spice, 

A peacock was, or bird of paradise I 

When the repast was ended, they arose 
And passed again into the garden-close. 



THE FALCON OF SEE FEDERIGO. 39 

Then said the lady, " Far too well I know, 
230 Remembering still the days of long ago, 

Though you betray it not, with what surprise 
You see me here in this familiar wise. 
You have no children, and yon cannot guess 
What anguish, what unspeakable distress 
235 A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, 
Nor how her heart anticipates his will. 
And yet for this, you see me lay aside 
All womanly reserve and check of pride. 
And ask the thing most precious in your sight, 
240 Your falcon, your sole comfort and delight. 
Which if you find it in your heart to give, 
My poor, unhappy boy perchance may live." 

Ser Federigo listens, and replies. 
With tears of love and pity in his eyes : 

245 "Alas, dear lady ! there can be no task 
So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. 
One little hour ago, if I had known 
This wish of yours, it would have been my own. 
But thinking in what manner I could best 

250 Do honor to the presence of my guest, 
I deemed that nothing worthier could be 
Than what most dear and precious was to me ; 
And so my gallant falcon breathed his last 
To furnish forth this morning our repast." 

255 In mute contrition, mingled with dismay, 
The gentle lady turned her eyes away, 
Grieving that he such sacrifice should make 
And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, 
Yet feeling in her heart a woman's pride, 



40 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INiV. 

860 That nothing she eould ask for was denied ; 
Then took her leave, and passed oat at the gate 
With footstep slow and soul diseonsolate*- 

Three days went by, and lo ! a passing-bell 
Tolled from the little chapel in the dell ; 

265 Ten sti'okes Ser Federigo heard, and said, 

Breathing a prayer, "Alas ! her child is dead I " 
Three months went by ; and lo ! a merrier chime 
Rang from the diapel bells at Christmas-time ; 
The cottage was deserted, and no more 

270 Ser Federigo sat beside its door, 

Bat now, with servitors to do his will, 
In the grand villa, half-way up the hill. 
Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his side 
Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 

875 Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair. 

Enthroned once more in the old rustic ehair, 
High-perched upon the back of which there stood 
Tlie image of a falcon carved in wood. 
And underneath the inscription, with a date, 

a£o " All things come round to him who will but wait.' 



INTERLUDE. 

Soon as the story reached its end, 
One, over-eager to commend. 
Crowned it with injudicious praise ; 
And then the voice of blame found Tent, 
And fanned the embers of dissent 
Into a somewhat lively blaze. 



INTERLUDE. 41 

The Theologian shook his head ; 
" These old Italian tales," he said, 
" From the much-praised Decameron down 
10 Through all the rabble of the rest. 

Are either trifling, dull, or lewd ; 

The gossip of a neighborhood 

In some remote provincial town, 

A scandalous chronicle at best ! 
15 They seem to me a stagnant fen, 

Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, 

Where a white lily, now and then, 

Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds 

And deadly nightshade on its banks I " 

20 To this the Student straight replied : 

" For the white lily, many thanks ! 

One should not say, with too much pride, 

Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! 

Nor were it grateful to forget 
25 That from these reservoirs and tanks 

Even imperial ShakesjDeare drew 

His Moor of Venice, and the Jew, 

And Romeo and Juliet, 

And many a famous comedy." 

so Then a long pause ; till some one said, 
" An Angel is flying overhead ! " 
At these words spake the Spanish Jew, 
And murmured with an inward breath : 
" God grant, if what you say be true, 

29. Dowdeu's Shakspere, in the series of Literahire Primers, will enable 
the student to discover how largely Shakespeare was indebted to Italian story- 
tellers. 



42 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

35 It may not be the Angel of Death ! " 
And then another pause ; and then, 
Stroking his beard, he said again : 
" This brings back to my memory 
A story in the Talmud told, 

40 That book of gems, that book of gold, 
Of wonders many and manifold, 
A tale that often comes to me, 
And fills my heart, and haunts my brain, 
And never wearies nor grows old." 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read 
A volume of the Law, in which it said, 
" No man shall look upon my face and live." 
And as he read, he prayed that God would give 
6 His faithful servant gi^ace with mortal eye 
To look upon His face and yet not die. 

Then fell a sudden shadow on the page, 
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim with age, 
He saw the Angel of Death before him stand, 

10 Holding a naked sword in his right hand. 
Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, 
Yet through his veins a chill of terror ran. 
With trembling voice he said, " What wilt thou 

here ? " 
The Angel answered, " Lo ! the time draws near 

15 When thou must die ; yet first, by God's decree, 



THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. 43 

Whate'er thou askest shall be granted thee." 
Replied the Rabbi, " Let these living eyes 
First look upon my place in Paradise." 

Then said the Angel, " Come with me and look." 
20 Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, 

And rising, and uplifting his gray head, 

" Give me thy sword," he to the Angel said, 

" Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by the way." 

The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, 
25 Then led him forth to the Celestial Town, 

And set him on the wall, whence, gazing down, 

Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, 

Might look upon his place in Paradise. 

Then straight into the city of the Lord 
30 The Rabbi leaped with the Death- Angel's sword, 

And through the streets there swept a sudden 
breath 

Of something there unknown, which men call death. 

Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, and cried, 

" Come back ! " To which the Rabbi's voice replied, 
35 " No ! in the name of God, whom I adore, 

I swear that hence I will depart no more ! " 

Then all the Angels cried, " O Holy One, 
See what the son of Levi here hath done ! 
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by violence, 
40 And in Thy name refuses to go hence ! '* 
The Lord replied, " My Angels, be not wroth ; 
Did e'er the son of Levi break his oath ? 
Let him remain ; for he with mortal eye 
Shall look upon my face and yet not die." 



44 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

46 Beyond the outer wall the Angel of Death 

Heard the great voice, and said, with panting breath, 
" Give back the sword, and let me go my way." 
Whereat the Rabbi jjaiised, and answered, " Nay ! 
Anguish enough already hath it caused 

60 Among the sons of men." And while he paused, 
He heard the awful mandate of the Lord 
Resounding through the air, "Give back the 
sword ! " 

The Rabbi bowed his head in silent prayer ; 
Then said he to the dreadful Angel, " Swear 

55 No human eye shall look on it again ; 

But when thou takest away the souls of men. 
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen sword, 
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the Lord." 
The Angel took the sword again, and swore, 

60 And walks on earth unseen forevermore. 



INTERLUDE. 

He ended : and a kind of spell 
Upon the silent listeners fell. 
His solemn manner and his words 
Had touched the deep, mysterious chords 
5 That vibrate in each human breast 
Alike, but not alike confessed. 
The spiritual world seemed near ; 
And close above them, full of fear. 
Its awful adumbration passed, 
10 A luminous shadow, vague and vast. 
They almost feared to look, lest there, 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 45 

Embodied from the impalpable air, 
They might behold the Angel stand, 
Holding the sword in his right hand. 

16 At last, but in a voice subdued, 
Not to disturb their dreamy mood, 
Said the Sicilian : " While you spoke, 
Telling your legend marvellous, 
Suddenly in my memory woke 

20 The thought of one, now gone from us, — ■ 
An old Abate, meek and mild. 
My friend and teacher, when a child. 
Who sometimes in those days of old 
The legend of an Angel told, 

25 Which ran, as I remember, thus." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 

This story is one of very wide distribution. It is given in Gcsta 
Romanorum, Tale No. LIX, as the story of Jovinian, who is the hero 
of the same story in an old French moralite entitled i' Orgueil et 
Presumption de PEmpereur Jovinian. Frere, in his Old Deccan 
Days, or Hindoo Fairy Legends current in Southern India, recites it 
in the form of The Wanderings of Vicram Maharajah. There is 
an old English metrical romance of Robert of Cysille, an abstract 
of which may be found in Ellis's Early Metrical Romances. In 
Ludwig Bechstein's popular tales from the German, entitled As 
Pretty as Seven, and other Tales, it reappears as The Haughty King. 
Leigh Hunt, among modern Englishmen, has told the story in A 
Jar of Honey from Mt. Hyhla, and to this most directly Mr. Long- 
fellow seems to have had recourse. Since the Tales of a Wayside 
Inn appeared, William Morris, in The Earthly Paradise, has given 
a version under the title of The Proud King, and A. R. Hope a 



46 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

prose rendering in Stories of Old Renown. Something of the same 
theme was present to Mark Twain when he wrote The Prince and 
the Peasant. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and squire, 
5 On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 

He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 
10 De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

" What mean these words ? " The clerk made an- 
swer meet, 

*' He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
16 And has exalted them of low degree." 

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 

" 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 

Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 

For unto priests and people be it known, 
20 There is no j^ower can push me from my throne ! " 

And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleej?. 

Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

2. Allemaine is Germany. The Germans living on the borders of the Rhine 
were formerly called Alemanni by their Gallic neighbors, and to-day the 
French name for Germany is AUemagne. 

G. The Magnificat is the song of rejoicing by the Virgin Mary when receiv- 
ing the visit of Elizabeth. See St. Luke's Gospel, chapter i. In the Roman 
Catholic service the Latin words of the song at its beginning are Mngnifcat 
anima mea Dominum. 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 4T 

When he awoke, it was already night ; 

The church was empty, and there was no light, 

Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 

He started from his seat and gazed around. 

But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 

He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 

And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 

The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 

As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 

At lenoth the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout. 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 
" Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 
" This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride. 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
AVho neither turned, nor looked at him, nor si^oke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night. 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 



48 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 

55 Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 

60 Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 

Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, 
6B King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 

But all transfigured with angelic light ! 

It was an Angel ; and his presence there 

With a divine effulgence filled the air, 

An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
70 Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. 
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, 
Who met his look of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 

75 Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st thou 
here ? " 
To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 
" I am the King, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! '*' 
And suddenly, at these audacious words, 

80 Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; 
The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
" Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou 

82. The king's jester was one of the persons about the king or nobleman 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 49 

Henceforth slialt wear the bells and scalloped cape, 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; 
85 Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers. 
They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; 
A group of tittering pages ran before, 
90 And as they opened wide the folding-door, 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms. 
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 
With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King ! " 

96 Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head, 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed. 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls, 
100 Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape. 
Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 

106 Days came and went ; and now returned again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 
Under the Angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine. 



who made sport for the court. He was dressed in a motley garb, which has 
passed down with changes to that of the modern circus clown. The jester 
or fool plays a conspicuous part in Shakespeare's plays. Scott describes one 
in Wamba in Ivanhoe. 



50 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
no Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 

Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 

Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, 

With look bewildered and a vacant stare, 
115 Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 

By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 

His only friend the ape, his only food 

What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 

And when the Angel met him on his way, 
120 And half in earnest, half in jest, would say. 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 

The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 

" Art thou the King? " the passion of his woe 

Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
125 And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 

The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when there came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 

130 Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
The Angel with great joy received his guests, 
And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

135 And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 
And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

■ 110. Mr. Longfellow, in his poem JEnceladus, has used the myth of the 
giant resting under Mount Etna as a symbol for slumbering Italy about to 
rise in its strength. 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 51 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 
140 By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 
146 His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 

150 Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square. 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and with prayers 
He entertained the Angel unawares, 

155 Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 
Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 
" I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 
Robert, your brother. King of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 

160 Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 

Do you not know me ? does no voice witliin 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ; 

165 The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! " 
And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 



52 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 
170 And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
The presence of the Angel, with its light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
175 Even the Jester, on his bed of straw. 

With haggard eyes the unwonted sjDlendor saw, 
He felt within a power unfelt before. 
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber-floor, 
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
180 Sweep through the silent air, ascending heaven- 
ward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore. 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 
The land was made resplendent with his train, 

185 Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's wall, 
And, seated on the throne in his great hall. 
He heard the Angelus from convent towers, 

190 As if the better world conversed with ours. 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 
And when they were alone, the Angel said, 
" Art thou the King ? " Then, bovring down his head, 

189. The Angelns or Angelus Domini is a prayer to the Virgin, instituted 
by Pope Urban II. It begins with the words Angelus Domini nuntiavit 
3Tariae (tlie angel of the Lord announced to Mary). Then follows the saluta- 
tion of Gabriel, Ave 3faria (Hail Mary). The prayer is recited three times a 
day at the sound of a bell, which is therefore called the Angelus bell. Note 
line 49 of Evangeline, and recall also the well-known picture of the Angelus 
by the French painter Jean Francois Millet. 



INTEELUDE. 53 

195 King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, 
And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of j^enitence, 
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 

200 Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! " 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place. 
And through the open window, loud and clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 

205 Above the stir and tumult of the street : 

" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 

210 " I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo I he was alone I 
But all apparelled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
215 And when his courtiers came, they found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 



INTERLUDE. 

And then the blue-eyed Norseman told 
A Saga of the days of old. 
" There is," said he, " a wondrous book 
Of Legends in the old Norse tongue. 
Of the dead kings of Norroway, — 



54 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Legends that once were told or sung 
In many a smoky fireside nook 
Of Iceland, in the ancient day, 
By wandering Saga-man or Scald ; 
10 ' Heimskringla ' is the volume ccilled ; 
And he w^ho looks may find therein 
The story that I now begin." 

And in each pause the story made 
Upon his violin he played, 

15 As an appropriate interlude, 

Fragments of old Norwegian tunes 
That bound in one the separate runes. 
And held the mind in perfect mood, 
Entwining and encircling all 

20 The strange and antiquated rhymes 
With melodies of olden times ; 
As over some half-ruined wall, 
Disjointed and about to fall, 
Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, 

25 And keep the loosened stones in place. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. 

THE SAGA OF KIXG OLAF. 

As mentioned in the Introduction, The Saga of King Olaf ap- 
pears to have preceded the plan for Tales of a Wayside Inn ; the 
first number of all, The Challenge of Thor, having had a still earlier 
composition. The Heimskringla, which furnished the material for 
the Saga^ gets its name from the first word (meaning " the world's 
circle ") of an Icelandic manuscript chronicle, written by Snorro 
Sturleson early in the thirteenth century. This work was pub- 
lished iu Danish near the end of the sixteenth century, and a hun- 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 55 

dred years later was made known to scholars through a Latin 
translation. It was not rendered entire into English until 1844, 
when it appeared under the following' title : The Heimskringla ; or 
Chronicle of the Kings of Norway. Translated from the Icelandic 
of Snorro Stubleson, with a Preliminary Dissertation by Sam- 
uel Laing This work, in three volumes, is the one consulted 
by Mr. Longfellow. The last division of the first volume is King 
Olaf Tryggvesson'' s Saga, and the incidents upon which the poem 
is based are related in successive chapters. 

Olaf (pronounced Oolahf ) was the son of Astrid, Avhose husband 
Trygg\8 was murdered by Gunhild. Astrid was obliged to fly 
from Norway to Sweden, and later to Russia, where she and her 
boy were sold as slaves. The boy was sold agaiia and again, but at 
last fell in with a kinsman who was high in the Russian service, 
and was redeemed by him. 

When Olaf grew to manhood he became a sea-robber, an en- 
tirely respectable profession in those days, and plundered the 
coasts of the North Sea and Irish and English channels. At the 
Scilly Islands he came upon a Christian hermit, who converted 
the wild pagan to Christianity. 

Hakon Jarl was ruling in Norway and heard of one Ole (so he was 
called), who was making himself famous as a viking-, and, suspect- 
ing him to be Olaf, endeavored to get him into his power. But 
Hakon Jarl was hated for his selfish ways, and when Olaf appeared 
with intent to win back his father' s right to Norway, the enemies 
of Hakon joined him, and together they put an end to Hakon. 

Olaf now made a long and desperate struggle, not only to bring 
all Norway to his feet, but to introduce Christianity and put down 
the Scandinavian religion. The series of poems in this Saga re- 
count some of the more striking incidents in his adventurous ca- 
reer. Mr. Longfellow has woven them into a consistent whole ; 
but whoever will may read many more confusing details in Laing' s 
Heimskringla, or he may get at the substance of the whole in vig- 
orous prose in Thomas Carlyle's The Early Kings of Norioay. It 
would be a good exercise to attempt to make a continuous narra- 
tive of Olaf's career, for the part of his life which is only hinted 
at in King Olafs Return offers an abundant store of striking inci- 
dent. A comparison also of the prose narrative in Laing' s ver- 
sion with Mr. Longfellow's poetic presentation will disclose some- 
thing of the alchemy by which a poet transmutes baser metals to 
gold. 



56 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



I. 

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR. 

I ASi the God Thor, 
I am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer ! 
Here in my Northland, 
5 My fastness and fortress, 
Reign I forever ! 

Here amid icebergs 

Ride I the nations ; 

This is my hammer, 
10 Miohier the mighty ; 

Giants and sorcerers 

Cannot withstand it ! 

These are the gauntlets 

Wherewith I wield it, 
15 And hurl it afar off ; 

This is my girdle ; 

Whenever I brace it. 

Strength is redoubled ! 

The light thou beholdest 
20 Stream through the heavens, 
In flashes of crimson, 
Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night-wind, 
Affrighting the nations ! 

10. Miolner (pronounced Myerlner, but without rolling the first r), or the 
Crusher, was the name of Thor's mighty hammer. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF, 67 

25 Jove is my brother ; 

Mine eyes are the lightning ; 

The wheels of my chariot 

Roll in the thunder, 

The blows of my hammer 
so Ring in the earthquake ! 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it ; 
Meekness is weakness. 
Strength is triumphant, 
35 Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's-Day ! 

Thou art a God too, 
O Galilean ! 

And thus single-handed 
40 Unto the combat, 

Gauntlet or Gospel, ^ 

Here I defy thee ! 



KING OLAf's RETURX. 

And King Olaf heard the cry, 
Saw the red light in the sky, 
46 Laid his hand upon his sword. 
As he leaned uj^on the railing, 
And his ships went sailing, sailing 
Northward into Drontheim fiord. 

3G. That is, Thursday, which gets its name from Thor. 

48. Another form of Drontheim, and the one more commonly in use in Nor- 



58 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

There he stood as one who dreamed ; 
60 And the red light glanced and gleamed 

On the armor that he v\^ore ; 
And he shouted, as the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

" I accept thy challenge, Thor ! " 

65 To avenge his father slain. 
And reconquer realm and reign, 
Came the youthful Olaf home, 
Through the midnight sailing, sailing, 
Listening to the wild wind's wailing, 

60 And the dashing of the foam. 

To his thoughts the sacred name 
Of his mother Astrid came, 

And the tale she oft had told 
Of her flight by secret passes 
65 Through the mountains and morasses, 

To the home of Hakon old. 

Then strange memories crowded back 
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack, 
And a hurried flight by sea ; 
70 Of grim Vikings, and the rapture 
Of the sea-fight, and the capture, 
And the life of slavery. 



way, is Throndhjem (pronounced Tronyem), signifying the heiro, hjem, i. e. 
home, of the Thronder, an ancient tribe. Down to the middle of the sixteenth 
century the name of the town was Nidaros (mouth of the river Nid). 

66. Hakon Gamle, in Sweden, was a friend of Eric, the father of Astrid, and 
to him the queen had fled with her infant child. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 69 

How a stranger watched his face 
In the Esthonian market-place, 
78 Scanned his features one by one, 
Saying, " We shoukl know each other; 
I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother. 
Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son ! " 

Then as Queen Allogia's page, 
80 Old in honors, young in age, 

Chief of all her men-at-arms ; 
Till vague whispers, and mysterious, 
Reached King Valdemar, the imperious, 

Filling him with strange alarms. 

85 Then his cruisings o'er the seas, 
Westward to the Hebrides 

And to Scilly's rocky shore ; 
And the hermit's cavern dismal, 
Christ's great name and rites baptismal 

90 In the ocean's rush and roar. 

All these thoughts of love and strife 
Glimmered through his lurid life, 

As the stars' intenser light 
Through the red flames o'er him trailing, 
95 As his ships went sailing, sailing 

Northward in the summer night. 

Trained for either camp or court, 
Skilful in each manly sport. 
Young and beautiful and tall ; 

74. Esthoniaj or Esthland, is a province of Russia lying south of the Gulf of 
Finland. 

79. Allogia was queen of Russia apparently, for it was to Novogorod that 
Sigurd took Olaf, 



60 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

ICO Art of warfare, craft of chases, 

Swimming, skating, snow-shoe races, 
Excellent alike in all. 

When at sea, with all his rowers, 
He along the bending oars 
105 Outside of his ship could run. 
He the Smalsor Horn ascended. 
And his shining shield suspended 
On its summit, like a sun. 

On the ship-rails he could stand, 
110 Wield his sword with either hand, 

And at once two javelins throw ; 
At all feasts where ale was strongest 
Sat the merry monarch longest, 

Fir.=t to come and last to go. 

115 Norway never yet had seen 
One so beautiful of mien, 
One so royal in attire. 
When in arms completely furnished, 
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, 

120 Mantle like a flame of fire. 

Thus came Olaf to his own, 
When upon the night-wind blown 

Passed that cry along the shore ; 
And he answered, while the rifted 
125 Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

" I accept thy challenge, Thor ! '* 

106. CaHed also Horn^len, a mountain between Bergen and Molde. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 61 

III. 

THORA OF KIMOL. 

" Thora of Rimol ! hide me ! hide me ! 
Danger and shame and death betide me ! 
For Olaf the King is hunting me down 
130 Through field and forest, through thorp and town ! " 

Thus cried Jarl Hakon 

To Thora, the fairest of women. 

" Hakon Jarl ! for the love I bear thee 
Neither shall shame nor death come near thee 1 
135 But the hiding-place wherein thou must lie 
Is the cave underneath the swine in the sty." 

Thus to Jarl Hakon 

Said Thora, the fairest of women. 

So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall Karker 
140 Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon darker, 
As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, 
Through the forest roads into Orkadale, 
Demanding Jarl Hakon 
Of Thora, the fairest of women. 

145 " Rich and honored shall be whoever 
The head of Hakon Jarl shall dissever ! " 
Hakon heard him, and Karker the slave, 

131. Jarl or Earl Hakon. The story of Earl Hakon's flight, his concealment 
by Thora in the swine sty, his murder by his thrall Karker, who lay concealed 
with liim, Karker's carrying the head to Olaf, and then being beheaded also 
by Olaf, are all told in chapters liii to l\t of the Saga. 

142, Orkadale, or Orkadal, is on the river Orka, flowing into Throndbjem 
Fiord. 



62 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Through the breathing-holes of the darksome cave. 
Alone in her chamber 
160 Wept Thora, the fairest of women. 

Said Karker, the crafty, " I will not slay thee ! 
For all the king's gold I will never betray thee ! " 
" Then why dost thou turn so pale, O churl, 
And then again black as the earth ? " said the Earl. 
166 More pale and more faithful 

Was Thora, the fairest of women. 

From a dream in the night the thrall started, saying, 
" Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf was lay- 
ing ! " 
And Hakon answered, " Beware of the king ! 
160 He will lay round thy neck a blood-red ring.'* 
At the ring on her finger 
Gazed Thora, the fairest of women. 

At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows encumbered, 
But screamed and drew up his feet as he slumbered ; 
165 The thrall in the darkness plunged wdth his knife, 
And the Earl awakened no more in this life. 
But wakeful and weeping 
Sat Thora, the fairest of women. 

At Nidarholm the priests are all singing, 
170 Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are swinging ; 
One is Jarl Hakon 's and one is his thrall's. 
And the people are shouting from windows and 
walls ; 

1C9. Nidarholm, or island of tlie river Nid, now Munkholm, oppo:ite Thrond- 
hjem. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 63 

"While alone in lier chamber 
Swoons Thora, the fairest of women. 



IV. 

QUEEJT SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. 

176 Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud and aloft 

In her chamber, that looked over meadow and croft. 
Heart's dearest, 
Why dost thou sorrow so ? 

The floor with tassels of fir was besjDrent, 
180 Fillinof the room with their frajxrant scent. 

She heard the birds sing, she saw the sun shine, 
The air of summer was sweeter than wine. 

Like a sword without scabbard the bright river lay 
Between her own kingdom and Norroway. 

1S5 But Olaf the King had sued for her hand, 

The sword would be sheathed, the river be spanned. 

Her maidens were seated around her knee, 
Working bright figures in tapestry. 

And one was singing the ancient rune 
190 Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of Gudrun. 

175. Queen Sigrid of Sweden. Her adventures, and how she came to be 
called the Haughty, are related in chapter XLViii of the Saga. 

190. A grewsorae story out of an old Edda, well suited to the taste of the 
haughty Sigrid. 



64 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And through it, and round it, and over it all 
Sounded incessant the waterfall. 

The Queen in her. hand held a ring of gold, 
From the door of Lade's Temple old. 

1S5 King Olaf had sent her this wedding gift, 

But her thoughts as arrows were keen and swift. 

She had given the ring to her goldsmiths twain, 
Who smiled, as they handed it back again. 

And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty way, 
200 Said, " Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, say ? " 

And they answered : " O Queen ! if the truth must 

be told, 
The ring is of copper, and not of gold ! " 

The lightning flashed o'er her forehead and cheek, 
She only murmured, she did not speak : 

205 "If in his gifts he can faithless be. 

There will be no gold in his love to me." 

A footstep was heard on the outer stair. 
And in strode King Olaf with royal air. 

He kissed the Queen's hand, and he whispered of love, 
210 And swore to be true as the stars are above. 

194. One of Olaf's feats was to destroy a heathen temple at Lad6 (Lah-day) 
in Throndhjem, and to carry off the ornaments, among them a great gold 
ring which hung on the door of the temple. He sent this ring to Sigrid when 
he was pajring court to her. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



But she smiled with contempt as she answered : " O 

King, 
Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, on the ring ? " 



And the King : " Oli speak not of Odin to me, 
The wife of King Olaf a Christian must be." 

215 Looking straight at the King, with her level brows, 
She said, " I keep true to my faith and my vows." 

Then the face of King Olaf was darkened with 

gloom, 
He rose in his anger and strode through the room. 

" Why, then, should I care to liave thee ? " he 
said, — 
220 " A faded old woman, a heathenish jade ! " 

His zeal was stronger than fear or love. 

And he struck the Queen in the face with his glove. 

Then forth from the chamber in anger he fled, 
And the wooden stairway shook with his tread. 

225 Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under her breath, 
" This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy death ! " 
Heart's dearest. 
Why dost thou sorrow so ? 

212. The ring had been hung by Hakon as a votive offering, for, though nomi- 
nally a Christian, the king endeavored to conciliate the more than half heathen 
people by constructing and adorning heathen temples. 



m TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

V. 

THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS, 

Kow from all King Olaf s farms 
230 His men-at-arms 

Gathered on the Ere of Easter j 
To his house at Augvalds-ness 

Fast they press, 
Drinking with the royal feaster, 

235 Loudly through the wide-flung door 
Came the roar 
Of the sea upon the Skerry ; 
And its thunder loud and near 
Reached the ear, 
240 Mingling with their voices merry, 

" Hark ! " said Olaf to his Scald, 

Halfred the Bald, 
" Listen to that song, and learn it I 
Half my kingdom would I give, 
245 As I live, 

If by such songs you would earn it I 

" For of all the runes and rhymes 

Of all times, 
Best I like the ocean's dirges, 
250 When the old harper heaves and rocks, 
His hoary locks 
Flowing and flashing in the surges ! '* 

232. KcBS, in terminations of Scandinavian names, is nose, or cape* 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 67 

Halfred answered: "I am called 

The Unappalled ! 

2B5 Nothing hinders me or daunts me. 

Hearken to me, then, O King, 

While I sing 
The great Ocean Song that haunts me." 

" I will hear your song sublime 
260 Some other time," 

Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, 
And retires ; each laughing guest 

Applauds the jest ; 
Then they sleep till day is dawning. 

265 Pacing up and down the yard, 
King Olaf's guard 
Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping 
O'er the sands, and up the hill. 
Gathering still 
270 Round the house where they were sleeping. 

It was not the fog he saw. 

Nor misty flaw, 
That above the landscape brooded ; 
It was Eyvind Kallda's crew 
275 Of warlocks blue 

With their caps of darkness hooded! 

Round and round the house they go. 
Weaving slow 

274. The Saga relates that not long before the feast, Olaf summoned all the 
sorcerers or warlocks into his presence, shut them up in a house and then 
burned the house, determined to rid the land of all who dealt in evil spirits. 
But one of the sorcerers, Eyvind Kallda, escaped in the smoke that flew up 
the chimney. 



68 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Magic circles to encumber 
280 And imprison in their ring 
Olaf the King, 
As he helpless lies in shimber. 

Then athwart the vapors dun 

The Easter sun 
285 Streamed with one broad track of splendor ! 
In their real forms appeared 

The warlocks weird, 
Awful as the Witch of Endor. 

Blinded by the light that glared, 
290 They groped and stared, 

Round about with steps unsteady ; 
From his window Olaf gazed, 

And, amazed, 
" Who are these strange people ? " said he. 

295 '• Eyvind Kallda and his men ! " 
Answered then 
From the yard a sturdy farmer ; 
While the men-at-arms apace 
Filled the place, 
300 Busily buckling on their armor. 

From the gates they sallied forth. 

South and north. 
Scoured the island coast around them. 
Seizing all the warlock band, 
306 Foot and hand 

On the Skerry's rocks they bound them. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 69 

And at eve the king again 

Called his train, 
And, with all the candles burning, 
310 Silent sat and heard once more 

The sullen roar 
Of the ocean tides returning. 

Shrieks and cries of wild despair 

Filled the air, 

316 Growing fainter as they listened ; 

Then the bursting surge alone 

Sounded on ; — 
Thus the sorcerers were christened ! 

" Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, 
320 Your ocean-rhyme," 

Cried King Olaf : " it will cheer me ! " 
Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, 

" The Skerry of Shrieks 
Sings too loud for you to hear me ! " 



VI. 

THE WRAITH OF ODIl^f. 

326 The guests were loud, the ale was strong, 
King Olaf feasted late and long ; 
The hoary Scalds together sang ; 
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

329. In old ballads we frequently find what is called a refrain, a line which 
recurs at the end of each stanza. It does not always seem to have a direct 
reference to the story in the ballad, but is a monotonous expression of the pre- 



70 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

330 The door swung wide, with creak and din : 
A blast of cold night-air came in, 
And on the threshold shivering stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

335 The King exclaimed, " O graybeard pale ! 
Come warm thee with this cup of ale." 
The foaming draught the old man quaffed, 
The noisy guests looked on and laughed. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

340 Then spake the King : " Be not afraid : 
Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, 
And, seated at the table, told 
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

346 And ever, when the tale was o'er. 
The King demanded yet one more ; 
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, 
" 'T is late, O King, and time for bed." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

360 The King retired ; the stranger guest 
Followed and entered with the rest ; 
The lights were out, the pages gone, 
But still the garrulous guest spake on. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 



vailing tone. Here, for example, the story makes no mention of Sir Morten 
of Fogelsang, but the line regularly calls up, throughout the ballad, the image 
of a ghost galloping, as if, whenever the singer paused, one could hear the hoof- 
beata of the ghostly steed. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 71 

356 As one who from a volume reads, 
He spake of heroes and their deeds, 
Of lands and cities he had seen, 
And stormy gulfs that tossed between. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

360 Then from his lips in music rolled 
The Havamal of Odin old, 
With sounds mysterious as the roar 
Of billows on a distant shore. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

366 " Do we not learn from runes and rhymes 
Made by the gods in elder times, 
And do not still the great Scalds teach 
That silence better is than speech? " 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

S70 Smiling at this, the King replied, 
" Thy lore is by thy tongue belied ; 
For never was I so enthralled 
Either by Saga-man or Scald." 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

375 The Bishop said, " Late lioui-s we keep ! 
Night wanes, King ! 't is time for sleep ! " 
Then slept the King, and when he woke 
The guest was gone, the morning broke. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

380 They found the doors securely barred. 
They found the watch-dog in the yard, 

361. Odin was the chief god in Scandinavian mythology •, he was the father 
of Thor. The Havamal was his high song. 



72 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

There was no footprint in the grass. 
And none had seen the stranger pass. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 

385 King Olaf crossed himself and said : 
" I know that Odin the Great is dead ; 
Sure is the triumph of our Faith, 
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith.'* 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogelsang. 



VIL 

IROX-BEARD. 

390 Olaf the King, one summer morn, 

Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 
Sending his signal through the land of Drontheim. 

And to the Hus-Ting held at Mere 

Gathered the farmers far and near, 

395 With their war weaj)ons ready to confront him. 

Ploughing under the morning star, 
Old Iron-Beard in Yriar 
Heard the summons, chuckling with a low laugh. 

He wjj)ed the sweat-drojDS from his brow, 
400 Unharnessed his horses from the plough, 
And clattering came on horseback to King Olaf. 

393. A ting or thing {h silent) was an assembly ; a hus-iing was an assembly 
of householders, and in English politics has passed into hustings. The parlia- 
ment of Norway is called the Sforfhing, or great-meeting. 

397. Jem Skjaegge, or Iron Beard, who lived in Ophaug in Yriar, was a 
notable peasant landlord •who upheld the religion of Odin in opposition to 
Christianity. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 73 

He was the churllest of the churls ; 
Little he cared for king or earls ; 
Bitter as home-brewed ale were his foaming pas- 



405 Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, 

And by the Hammer of Thor he swore ; 
He hated the narrow town, and all its fashions. 

But he loved the freedom of his farm. 
His ale at night, by the fireside warm, 
410 Gudrun his daughter, with her fiaxen tresses. 

He loved his horses and his herds, 
The smell of the earth, and the song of birds, 
His well-filled barns, his brook with its water-cresses. 

Huge and cumbersome was his frame ; 
415 His beard, from which he took his name, 

Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer the Giant. 

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, 
The farmer of Yriar, Iron-Beard, 
On horseback, in an attitude defiant. 

420 And to King Olaf he cried aloud, 
Out of the middle of the crowd, 
That tossed about him like a stormy ocean : 

" Such sacri^ces shalt thou bring 
To Odin and to Thor, O King, 
425 As other kings have done in their devotion ! " 

416. Hymer, or Hrym (rime), the Frost Giant. 



74 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

King Olaf answered : " I command 
This land to be a Christian land ; 
Here is my Bishop who the folk baptizes ! 

" But if you ask me to restore 
430 Your sacrifices, stained with gore, 

Then will I offer human sacrifices ! 

" Not slaves and peasants shall they be. 
But men of note and high degree, 
Such men as Orm of Lyra and Kar of Gryting ! " 

435 Then to their Temple strode he in, 

And loud behind him heard the din 
Of his men-at-arms and the peasants fiercely fighting. 

There in the Temple, carved in wood, 
The image of great Odin stood, 
440 And other gods, with Thor supreme among them. 

King Olaf smote them with the blade 
Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid. 
And downward shattered to the pavement flung them. 

At the same moment rose without, 
445 From the contending crowd, a shout, 

A mingled sound of triumph and of wailing. 

And there upon the trampled plain 
The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, 
Midway between the assailed and the assailing. 

434. He named, according to the Saga, eleven of the principal men among 
the peasants. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 75 

460 King Olaf from the doorway spoke : 

" Choose ye between two things, my folk, 
To be baptized or given up to slaughter ! " 

And seeing their leader stark and dead, 
The people with a murmur said, 
465 " O King, baptize us with thy holy water." 

So all the Drontheim land became 
A Christian land in name and fame. 
In the old gods no more believing and trusting. 

And as a blood-atonement, soon 
460 King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun ; 

And thus in peace ended the Drontheim Hus-Ting ! 



VIII. 

GUDRUN". 

On King Olaf's bridal night 
Shines the moon with tender light, 
And across the chamber streams 
465 Its tide of dreams. 

At the fatal midnight hour, 
When all evil things have power, 
In the glimmer of the moon 
Stands Gudrun. 

. 470 Close against her heaving breast 
Something in her hand is pressed ; 

4G0. That is, as a blood-atonement for the slaughter of Iron-Beard. Gud- 
run waa Iron-Beard'8 daughter. 



76 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Like an icicle, its sheen 
Is cold and keen. 

On the cairn are fixed her eyes 
475 Where her murdered father lies, 
And a voice remote and drear 
She seems to hear. 

"What a bridal night is this ! 
Cold will he the dagger's kiss ; 
480 Laden with the chill of death 
Is its breath. 

Like the drifting snow she sweeps 
To the couch where Olaf sleeps ; 
Suddenly he wakes and stirs, 
485 His eyes meet hers. 

'' What is that," King Olaf said, 
" Gleams so bright above my head ? 
Wherefore standest thou so white 
In pale moonlight ? " 

490 " 'T is the bodkin that I wear 
When at night I bind my hair ; 
It woke me falling on the floor ; 
'T is nothing more." 

'' Forests have ears, and fields have eyes ; 
495 Often treachery lurking lies 
Underneath the fairest hair ! 
Gudrun beware ! " 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 77 

Ere the earliest peejD of morn 
Blew King Olaf 's bugle-horn ; 
600 And forever sundered ride 
Bridegroom and bride ! 



IX. 

THANGBRAND THE PRIEST. 

Short of stature, large of limb, 
Burly face and russet beard, 
All the women stared at him, 
506 When in Iceland he appeared. 
" Look ! " they said. 
With nodding head, 
" There goes Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." 

All the 23rayers he knew by rote, 

510 He could preach like Chrysostom, 

From the Fathers he could quote, 

He had even been at Rome. 

502. The Heimskringla narrates : " When King Olaf Tryggvesson had been 
two years king of Norway, there was a Saxon priest in his house who was 
called Thangbrand, a passionate, ungovernable man, and a great man-slayer, 
but he was a good scholar and a clever man. The king would not have him in 
his house on account of his misdeeds ; but gave him the errand to go to Ice- 
land, and bring that land to the Christian faith. The king gave him a mer- 
chant vessel ; and, as far as we know of this voyage of his, he landed first in 
Iceland at Ostfiord, in the southern Altafiord, and passed the winter in the 
house of Hall of Sidu. Thangbrand proclaimed Christianity in Iceland, and on 
his persuasion Hall and all his house-people, and many other chiefs, allowed 
themselves to be baptized ; but there were many more who spoke against it. 
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid the Scald composed a satire about Thangbrand ; 
but he killed them both outright. Thangbrand was two years in Iceland, and 
was the death of three men before he left it." This is the complete narrative 
in the Heimskringla, and is given here to enable the student to see at a glance 
how skilfully Mr. Longfellow has shaped his material into poetic form. 



78 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A learned clerk, 
A man of mark, 
D15 Was this Thangbrand, Olaf 's Priest. 

He was quarrelsome and loud. 

And impatient of control, 
Boisterous in the market crowd. 
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl ; 
620 Everywhere 

Would drink and sweai", 
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

In his house this malcontent 
Could the King no longer bear, 
626 So to Iceland he was sent 

To convert the heathen there, 
And away- 
One summer day 
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

630 There in Iceland, o'er their books 
Pored the people day and night, 
But he did not like their looks, 
Nor the songs they used to write. 
" All this rhyme 
636 Is waste of time ! " 

Grumbled Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

To the alehouse, where he sat. 

Came the Scalds and Saga-men ; 
Is it to be wondered at 
640 That they quarrelled now and then, 
AVhen o'er liis beer 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF, 79 

Began to leer 
Drunken Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest? 



All the folk in Altafiord 
645 Boasted of their island grand ; 
Saying in a single word, 
" Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
Doth shine upon ! " 
660 Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

And he answered : " What 's the use 

Of this bragging up and down, 
When three women and one goose 
Make a market in your town ! " 
655 Every Scald 

Satires scrawled 
On poor Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 

Something worse they did than that ; 
And what vexed him most of all 
660 Was a figure in shovel hat, 

Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; 
With words that go 
Sprawling below, 
" This is Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest." 

665 Hardly knowing what he did. 

Then he smote them might and main ; 
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid 
Lay there in the alehouse slain. 
" To-day we are gold, 
670 To-morrow mould ! " 

Muttered Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 



80 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Much in fear of axe and rope, 

Back to Norway sailed he then. 
" King Olaf ! little hope 
575 Is there of these Iceland men ! '* 
Meekly said, 
With bending head. 
Pious Thangbrand, Olaf's Priest. 



X. 

RAUD THE STRONG. 

" All the old gods are dead, 

580 All the wild warlocks fled ; 

But the White Christ lives and reigns, 
And throughout my wide domains 
His Gospel shall be spread ! " 
On the Evangelists 

685 Thus swore King Olaf. 

But still in dreams of the night 
Beheld he the crimson light, 
And heard the voice that defied 
Him who was crucified, 
590 And challenged him to the fight. 
To Sigurd the Bishop 
King Olaf confessed it. 

And Sigurd the Bishop said, 
" The old gods are not dead, 
595 For the great Thor still reigns, 
And among the Jarls and Thanes 
The old witchcraft still is spread." 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 81 

Thus to King 01a£ 
Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

600 " Far uorth in the Saltan Fiord, 

By rapine, fire, and sword, 

Lives the Viking, Raud the Strong ; 

All the Godoe Isles belong 

To him and his heathen horde." 
605 Thus went on speaking 

Sigurd the Bishop. 

" A warlock, a wizard is he, 
And lord of the wind and the sea ; 
And whichever way he sails, 
610 He has ever favoring gales, 
By his craft in sorcery." 

Here the sign of the cross 

Made devoutly King Olaf, 

" With rites that we both abhor, 
615 He worships Odin and Thor; 

So it cannot yet be said. 

That all the old gods are dead, 

And the warlocks are no more," 
Flushing with anger 
620 Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

Then King Olaf cried aloud : 
" I will talk with this mighty Raud, 
And along the Salten Fiord 
Preach the Gospel with my sword, 
625 Or be brought back in my shroud ! " 

So northward from Drontheim 

Sailed King Olaf ! 



82 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

XI. 

BISHOF SIGURD OF SALTEN FIOKD. 

Loud the angry wind was wailing 
As King Olaf's ships came sailing 
63a Northward out of Drontheim haven 
To the mouth of Salten Fiord. 

Though the flying sea-spray drenches; 
Fore and aft the rowers' henehes, 
Not a single heart is craven 
635 Of the champions there on board. 

All without the Fiord was quiet, 
But within it storm and riot, 
Such as on his Viking cruises 

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. 

640 And the sea through all its tide-ways 
Swept the reeling vessels sideways, 
As the leaves are swept through sluices. 
When the flood-gates open wide. 

" 'T is the warlock ! 't is the demon 
645 Raud ! " cried Sigurd to the seamen ; 
*' But the Lord is not affrighted 
By tlie witchcraft of his foes.'* 

640. The entrance to the Salten Fiord is narrow, and the vast mass of water 
within, when it flows out at ebb-tide, rushes in a tremendous race far out to 
sea, making the passage a perilous one. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 83 

To the ship's bow he ascended, 
By his choristers attended, 
650 Round him were the tapers lighted, 
And the sacred incense rose. 

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, 
In his robes, as one transfigured, 
And the Crucifix he planted 
665 High amid the rain and mist. 

Then with holy water siDrinkled 
All the ship ; the mass-bells tinkled : 
Loud the monks around him chanted, 
Loud he read the Evangelist. 

660 As into the Fiord they darted, 
On each side the water parted ; 
Down a path like silver molten 

Steadily rowed King Olaf 's ships ; 

Steadily burned all night the tapers, 
665 And the White Christ through the vapors 
Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, 
As through John's Apocalypse, — 

Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling 
On the little isle of Gelling ; 
670 Not a guard was at the doorway. 

Not a glimmer of light was seen. 

But at anchor, carved and gilded. 
Lay the dragon-ship he builded ; 
'T was the grandest ship in Norway, 
676 With its crest and scales of green. 



84 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Up the stairway softly creeping, 
To the loft where Raud was sleeping, 
With their fists they burst asunder 
Bolt and bar that held the door. 

680 Drunken with sleej^ and ale they found him, 
Dragged him from his bed and bound him. 
While he stared with stupid wonder 
At the look and garb they wore. 

Then King Olaf said : '' Sea-King ! 
685 Little time have we for speaking. 
Choose between the good and evil; 
Be baptized ! or thou shalt die ! " 

But in scorn the heathen scoffer 
Answered : " I disdain thine offer ; 
690 Neither fear I God nor Devil ; 

Thee and thy Gospel I defy ! " 

Then between his jaws distended, 
When his frantic struggles ended. 
Through King Olaf's horn an adder, 
695 Touched by fire, they forced to glide. 

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, 

As he gnawed through bone and marrow ; 

But without a groan or shudder, 

Raud the Strong blaspheming died. 

700 Then baptized they all that region. 
Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, 
Far as swims the salmon, leaping. 
Up the streams of Salten Fiord. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 85 

In their temples Thor and Odin 
705 Lay in dust and ashes trodden, 
As King 01a£, onward sweeping, 

Preached the Gospel with his sword. 

Then he took the carved and gilded 
Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, 
710 And the tiller single-handed 

Grasping, steered into the main. 

Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, 
Southward sailed the ship that bore him, 
Till at Drontheim haven landed 
715 Olaf and his crew asrain. 



XII. 

KING OLAf's CHRISTMAS. 

At Drontheim, Olaf the King 
Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, 

As he sat in his banquet-hall, 
Drinking the nut-brown ale, 
720 With his bearded Berserks hale 

And tall. 

Three days his Yule-tide feasts 
He held with Bishops and Priests, 

And his horn filled up to the brim ; 
726 But the ale was never too strong. 
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long. 
For him. 

720. The Berserks were men supposed to be possessed of exceeding strength, 
which became, indeed, superhuman when they were excited to fury. 



86 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

O'er his drinking-horn, the sign 
He made of the cross divine, 
730 As he drank, and muttered his prayers ; 

But the Berserks evermore 
Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor 
Over theii's. 

The gleams of the fire-Ught dance 
73E Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, 

And laugh in the eyes of the King ; 
And he cries to Halfred the Scald, 
Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, 
^'Sing!" 

749 " Sing me a song divine, 
With a sword in every line, 

And this shall be thy reward." 
And he loosened the belt at his waist, 
And in front of the singer placed 

745 His sword. 

** Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, 
Wherewith at a stroke he hewed 

The millstone through and through, 

742. In the Heimskringla Mr. Laing has translated Halfred's sword-s< 
follows : — 

" This sword of swords is my reward. 
For him who knows to wield a sword, 
And with his sword to serve his lord, 
Yet wants a sword, his lot is hard. 
I would I had my good lord's leave 
For this good sword a sheath to choose ; 
I 'm worth three swords where men swords use, 
But for the sword-sheath now I grieve." 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 87 

And Foot-breacltli of Thoralf the Strong, 
T50 Were neither so broad nor so long, 
Nor so true," 

Then the Scald took his harp and sang, 
And loud through the music rang 

The sound of that shining word ; 

755 And the harp-strings a clangor made, 

As if they were struck with the blade 

Of a sword. 

And the Berserks round about 
Broke forth into a shout 
760 That made the rafters ring : 

They smote with their fists on the board, 
And shouted, '* Long live the Sword, 
And the King ! " 

But the King said, " my son, 
765 I miss the bright word in one 

Of thy measures and thy rhymes." 
And Halfred the Scald replied, 
*' In another 't was multiplied 

Three times." 

770 Then King Olaf raised the hilt 

Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, 
And said, " Do not refuse ; 

Count well the gain and the loss, 

Thor's hammer or Christ's cross : 
775 Choose ! " 

749. Thoralf Skolinson the Strong was one of the guards of Earl Hakon. 
The two men were said to be equal in strength. 
770. See the sword-song. 



88 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And Halfred the Scald said, '' This 
In the name of the Lord I kiss, 

Who on it was crucified ! " 
And a shout went round the board, 
780 " In the name of Christ the Lord, 

Who died ! " 

Then over the waste of snows 
The noonday sun uprose, 

Tlirough the driving mists revealed, 
785 Like the lifting of the Host, 
By incense-clouds almost 

Concealed. 

On the shining wall a vast 
And shadowy cross was cast 
790 From the hilt of the lifted sword, 

And in foaming cups of ale 
The Berserks drank " Was-hael ! 
To the Lord ! " 



XIII. 

THE BUILDIXG OF THE LOXG SERPENT. 

Thorberg Shafting, master-builder, 
795 In his ship-yard by the sea, 

Whistling, said, " It would bewilder 
Any man but Thorberg Shafting, 
Any man but me ! " 

770. In the Saga Olaf is said to have been godfather to Halfred. 

792. Was-hael, which has been modified into wassail, is " Your health ! " 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 89 

Near him lay the Dragon stranded, 
800 Built of old by Raud the Strong, 

And King Olaf had commanded 
He should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, 
805 As he sat with half-closed eyes, 

And his head turned sideways, drafting 
That new vessel for King Olaf 
Twice the Dragon's size. 

Round him busily hewed and hammered 
810 Mallet huge and heavy axe ; 

Workmen laughed and sang and clamored ; 
Whirred the wheels, that into rigging 
Spun the shining flax ! 

All this tumult heard the master, — 
815 It was music to his ear ; 

Fancy whispered all the faster, 
" Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting 
For a hundred year I " 

Workmen sweating at the forges 
820 Fashioned iron bolt and bar. 

Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black caldron 
With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 
825 Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 

Could you not be gone a minute 



90 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But some mischief must be doing, 
Turning bad to worse ? 

'T was an ill wind that came wafting 
830 From his homestead words of woe ; 

To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, 
Oft repeating to his workmen, 
Build ye thus and so. 

After long delays returning 
835 Came the master back by night ; 

To his ship-yard longing, yearning, 
Hurried he, and did not leave it 
Till the morning's light. 

" Come and see my ship, my darling ! " 
840 On the morrow said the King ; 

" Finished now from keel to carling ; 
Never yet was seen in Norway 
Such a wondrous thing ! " 

In the ship-yard, idly talking, 
845 At the ship the workmen stared : 

Some one, all their labor balking, 
Down her sides had cut deep gashes, 
Not a plank was spared ! 

" Death be to the evil-doer! " 
860 With an oath King Olaf spoke ; 

" But rewards to his pursuer ! '* 
And with wrath his face grew redder 
Than his scarlet cloak. 



THE SAqA OF KING OLAF. 91 

Straight the master-builder, smiling, 
866 Answered thus the angry King: 

*' Cease blaspheming and reviling, 
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 
Who has done this thing ! " 

Then he chipped and smoothed the planking, 
860 Till the King, delighted, swore. 

With much lauding and much thanking, 
" Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she was before ! " 

Seventy ells and four extended 
865 On the grass the vessel's keel; * 

High above it, gilt and splendid, 
Rose the figure-head ferocious 
With its crest of steel. 

Then they launched her from the tressels, 
870 In the ship-yard by the sea ; 

She was the grandest of all vessels ; 
Never was built in Norway 
Half so fine as she ! 

The Long Serpent was she christened, 
876 'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 

They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting 
For a hundred year ! 

878. The story follows closely the version in the Saga. Perhaps the ex- 
planation is that Thorberg, called away vexatiously to a distant farm, came 
back to find his work done without him, and therefore marred it that he 
might mend it and have all the glory of the naval wonder. 



92 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

XIV. 

THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay 
880 King Olaf s fleet assembled lay, 

And, striped with white and blue, 

Downward fluttered sail and banner, 

As alights the screaming lanner ; 

Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, 
885 The Long Serpent's crew. 

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red ; 
Like a wolf's was his shaggy head. 

His teeth as large and white ; 
His beard, of gray and russet blended, 
890 Round as a swallow's nest descended ; 
As standard-bearer he defended 

Olaf 's flag in the fight. 

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, 
Like the King in garb and face, 
895 So gallant and so hale ; 
Every cabin-boy and varlet 
"Wondered at bis cloak of scarlet ; 
Like a river, frozen and star-lit. 
Gleamed his coat of mail. 

900 By the bulkhead, tall and dark. 
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, 

886. Z7// is wolf. 

901 . Th in these several proper names is sounded as T. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 93 

A figure gaunt and grand ; 
On his hairy arm imprinted 
Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; 
^06 Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted 

Was his brawny iiand. 

Einar Tamberskelver, bare 
To the winds his golden hair, 

By the mainmast stood ; 
910 Graceful was his form, and slender, 
And his eyes were deep and tender 
As a woman's, in the splendor 

Of her maidenhood. 

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork 

915 Watched the sailors at their work : 

Heavens ! how they swore ! 

Thirty men they each connnanded, 

Iron-sinewed, horny-handed, 

Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, 
923 Tugging at the oar. 

These, and many more like these, 
With King Olaf sailed the seas, 

Till the waters vast 
Filled them with a vague devotion, 
925 With the freedom and the motion, 
With the roll and roar of ocean 

And the sounding blast. 

When they landed from the fleet, 
How they roared through Drontheim's street, 
930 Boisterous as the gale ! 



94 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

How they laughed and stamped and pounded, 
Till the tavern roof resounded, 
And the host looked on astounded 
As they drank the ale ! 

935 Never saw the wild North Sea 
Such a gallant company 
Sail its billows blue ! 
Never, while they cruised and quarrelled, 
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, 
940 Owned a ship so well apparelled. 
Boasted such a crew ! 



XV. 

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. 

A little bird in the air 
Is singing of Thyri the fair, 
The sister of Svend the Dane ; 
945 And the song of the garrulous bird 
In the streets of the town is heard, 
And repeated again and again. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

950 To King Burislaf, it is said, 
Was the beautiful Thyri wed. 

And a sorrowful bride went she ; 
And after a week and a day 

944. Svend Forked-beard, the Dane, was the conqueror of England, and 
father of Canute the Great. 

950. Burislaf was an old heathen king of the Vends, to whom Svend had 
promised his sister in marriage, but Thyri had no mind to wed him. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 95 

She has fled away and away 
955 From his town by the stormy sea. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

They say, that through heat and through cold, 
Through weald, they say, and tlirough wold, 
963 By day and by night, they say. 
She has fled ; and the gossips report 
She has come to King Olaf's court, 
And the town is all in dismay. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
965 And flee away from each other. 

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, 
Has talked with the beautiful Queen ; 
And they wonder how it will end ; 
For surely, if here she remain 
970 It is war with King Svend the Dane, 
And King Burlslaf the Vend ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk. 
And flee away from each other. 

Oh, greatest wonder of all ! 
975 It is published in hamlet and hall, 

It roars like a flame that is fanned ! 
The King — yes, Olaf the King — 
Has wedded her with his ring. 
And Thyri is Queen in the land ! 
980 Hoist up your sails of silk, 

And flee away from each otlier. 



96 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

XVI. 

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA STALKS. 

Northward over Drontheim, 
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, 
Sang the lark and linnet 
S85 From the meadows green ; 

Weeping in her chamber, 
Lonely and unhappy, 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Sat King Olaf's Queen. 

990 In at all the windows 

Streamed the pleasant sunshine, 
On the roof above her 
Softly cooed the dove ; 

But the sound she heard not, 
995 Nor the sunshine heeded, 
For the thoughts of Thyri 
Were not thoughts of love. 

Then King Olaf entered, 
Beautiful as morning, 
icoo Like the sun at Easter 
Shone his happy face ; 

In his hand he carried 
Angelicas uprooted, 

98S. Drotining=:q\ieen. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 97 

With delicious fragrance 
1005 Filling all the place. 

Like a i-ainy midnight 
Sat the Drottning Thyrl 
Even the smile of Olaf 

Could not cheer her gloom ; 

1010 Nor the stalks he gave her 
With a gracious gesture, 
And with words as pleasant 
As their own perfume. 

In her hands he placed them, 
lois And her jewelled fingers 

Through the green leaves glistened 
Like the dews of morn ; 

But she cast them from her, 
Haughty and indignant, 
1020 On the floor she threw them 
With a look of scorn. • 

*' Richer presents," said she, 
^' Gave King Harald Gormson 
To the Queen, my mother, 
102S Than such worthless weeds ; 

*^ When he ravaged Norway, 
Laying waste the kingdom^ 
Seizing scatt and treasure 
For her royal needs- 



98 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

19S0 "■ But thou darest not venture 
Through the Sound to Vendland^ 
My domains to rescue 
From King Burislaf ,- 

" Lest King Svend of Denmark, 
M35 Forked Beard, my brother,. 
Scatter all thy vessels 
As the Vvdnd the chaffs'" 

Then up sprang King Olaf, 
Like a reindeer bounding^ 
184ft With an oath he answered 
Thus the luckless Queen : 

" Never yet did Olai 
Fear King Svend of Denmai'k ; 
This right hand shall hale himi 
S046 By his forked chin I " 

Then he left the chamber. 
Thundering through the doorway^. 
Loud his steps resounded 
Down the outer stair. 

io§o Smarting with the insult, 

Through the streets of DrontheiiQ 
Strode he red and wrathful^ 
With his stately air. 

All his ships he gathered^ 
1086 Summoned all his forces,. 

J031. Vexidland appears to have been the present Mecklenburg. Pomeranla, 
and Eatt Prussia. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 99 

Making his war levy 
In the region round. 

Down the coast of Norway, 
Like a flock of sea-gulls, 
1060 Sailed the fleet of Olaf 

Through the Danish Sound. 

With his own hand fearless 
Steered he the Long Serpent, 
Strained the creaking cordage, 
1065 Bent each boom and gaff ; 

Till in Vendland landing, 
The domains of Thyri 
He redeemed and rescued 
From King Burislaf. 

1070 Then said Olaf, laughing : 
" Not ten yoke of oxen 
Have the power to draw us 
Like a woman's hair ! 

" Now will I confess it, 
1076 Better things are jewels 
Than angelica stalks are 
For a queen to wear." 



100 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

XVII. 

KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. 

Loudly the sailors cheered 

Svend of the Forked Beard, 
1080 As with his fleet he steered 
Southward to Vendland ; 

Where with their courses hauled 

All were together called, 

Under the Isle of Svald 
io£6 Near to the mainland. 

After Queen Gunhild's death, 
So the old Saga saith, 
Plighted King Svend his faith 

To Sigvid the Haughty ; 
1090 And to avenge his hride. 

Soothing her wounded pride. 
Over the waters wide 

Kinof Olaf souMit he. 

Still on her scornful face, 
1095 Blushing with deep disgrace, 
Bore she the crimson trace 

Of Olaf 's gauntlet ; 
Like a malignant star. 
Blazing in heaven afar, 

1084. The antiquaries have looked in vain for the Isle of Svald, and have 
come to the conclusion that it was between the island of Rugen and the conti- 
nent, but disappeared in the fourteenth century, when great changes took place 
in the coast line of the Baltic. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 101 

1100 Red shone the angry scar 
Under her frontlet. 

Oft to King Svend she spake, 
" For thine own honor's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take 
1106 On the vile coward ! " 
Until the King at last, 
Gusty and overcast, 
Like a tempestuous blast 
Threatened and lowered. 

1110 Soon as the Spring appeared, 
Svend of the Forked Beard 
High his red standard reared, 

Eager for battle ; 
While every warlike Dane, 
1116 Seizing his arms again. 
Left all unsown the grain, 
Unhoused the cattle. 

Likewise the Swedish King 

Summoned in haste a Thing, 
1120 "Weapons and men to bring 
In aid of Denmark ; 

Eric the Norseman, too. 

As the war-tidings flew. 

Sailed with a chosen crew 
1126 From Lapland and Finmark. 

1122. Eric was son of Earl Hakon. He had left Norway when Hakon fell, 
and had gone to Sweden, but still claimed rule in Norway, and attracted to 
himBelf the enemies of Olaf . 



/ 
102 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

So upon Easter day 

Sailed the three kings away, 

Out of the sheltered bay, * 

In the bright season ; 
1130 With them Earl Sigvald came, 
Eager for spoil and fame ; 
Pity that such a name 

Stooped to such treason ! 

Safe under Svald at last, 
1136 Now were their anchors cast, 
Safe from the sea and blast. 

Plotted the three kings ; 
While, with a base intent, 
Southward Earl Sigvald went, 
1140 On a foul errand bent, 
Unto the Sea-Kings. 

Thence to hold on his course 
Unto King Olaf 's force, 
Lying within the hoarse 
1145 Mouths of Stet-haven ; 
Him to ensnare and bring 
Unto the Danish king, 
Who his dead corse would fling 
Forth to the raven ! 

1130. Earl Sigvald was a relation of Burislaf, and the one who had arranged 
with King Svend for the marriage of his sister Thyri to Burislaf. He was 
won over by Svend and played the part of a spy on Olaf, while he pretended 
to be his friend. 

1145. The bay at the head of which is the modern Stettin. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. lOi 

XYIII. 

KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. 

1150 On the gray sea-sands 
King Olaf stands, 
Northward and seaward 
He points with his hands. 

With eddy and whirl 
1155 The sea-tides curl, 
Washing the sandals 
Of Sigvald the Earl. 

The mariners shout. 
The ships swing about, 
1160 The yards are all hoisted, 
The sails flutter out. 

The war-horns are played, 
The anchors are weighed, 
Like moths in the distance 
1165 The sails flit and fade. 

The sea is like lead, 
The harbor lies dead, 
As a corse on the seashore, 
Whose spirit has fled ! 

1170 On that f^tal day, 
The histories say. 
Seventy vessels 
Sailed out of the bay. 



104 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But soon scattered wide 
1175 O'er the billows they ride. 
While Sigvald and Olaf 
Sail side by side. 

Cried the Earl : " Follow me ! 
I your pilot will be, 
2180 For I know all the channels 
Where flows the deep sea I " 

So into the strait 
Where his foes lie in wait 
Gallant King Olaf 
1185 Sails to his fate ! 

Then the sea-fog veils 
The ships and their sails ; 
Queen Sigrid the Haughty, 
Thy vengeance prevails 1 



XIX. 

KING OLAF's war-horns. 

1190 " Strike the sails ! " King Olaf said ; 

" Never shall men of mine take flight ; 

Never away from battle I fled, 

Never away from my foes ! 
Let God dispose 
1195 Of ray life in the fight ! " 

" Sound the horns I " said Olaf the King ; 
And suddenly through the drifting brume 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 105 

The blare of the horns began to ring, 
Like the terrible trumpet shock 
1200 Of Regnarock, 

On the Day of Doom ! 

Louder and louder the war-horns sang 
Over the level floor of the flood ; 
All the sails came down with a clang, 
1205 And there in the midst overhead 
The sun hung red 
As a drop of blood. 

Drifting down on the Danish fleet 
Three together the ships were lashed, 
1210 So that neither should turn and retreat ; 
In the midst, but in front of the rest, 

The burnished crest 
Of the Serpent flashed. 

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, 
1216 With bow of ash and arrows of oak ; 
His gilded shield was without a fleck. 
His helmet inlaid "wdth gold, 

And in many a fold 
Hung his crimson cloak. 

1220 On the forecastle Ulf the Red 
Watched the lashing of the ships ; 
" If the Serpent lie so far ahead, 
We shall have hard work of it here," 
Said he with a sneer 
1225 On his bearded lips. 

1200. Regnarock, more commonly written Ragnarok, is the twilight of the 
gods in the Norse mythology, the period of the destruction of the universe. 



106 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, 
'' Have I a coward on board ? " said he. 
" Shoot it another way, O King ! " 
Sullenly answered Ulf , 
1230 The old sea-wolf ; 

" You have need of me ! " 

In front came Svend, the King of the Danes, 
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers ; 
To the right, the Swedish king with his thanes ; 
1236 And on board of the Iron Beard 
Earl Eric steered 
To the left with his oars. 

" These soft Danes and Swedes," said the King, 
- " At home with their wives had better stay, 
1240 Than come within reach of my Serpent's sting : 
But where Eric the Norseman leads 

Heroic deeds 
Will be done to-day ! " 

Then as together the vessels crashed 
1245 Eric severed the cables of hide, 

With which King Olaf 's ships were lashed, 
And left them to di-ive and drift 

With the currents swift 
Of the outward tide. 

1260 Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, 
Sharper the dragons bite and sting ! 
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl 
A death-drink salt as the sea 
Pledges to thee, 

t265 Olaf the Kinjj ! 



HORNELEN, 



CODO ISUA 

5ALTEN FIOH 

CCLLINC I 

AUCVALDSNI 

SKERRV OF 

SHRIEK 




vendland 



THE FIELD OF KING OLAF'S ADVENTURES. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 109 



XX. 

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. 

It was Einar Tamberskelver 

Stood beside the mast ; 
From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, 

Flew the arrows fast ; 
1260 Aimed at Eric unavailing, 

As he sat concealed. 
Half behind the quarter-railing, 

Half behind his shield. 

First an arrow struck the tiller 
1268 Just above his head ; 

" Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller," 

Then Earl Eric said. 
" Sing the song of Hakon dying. 
Sing his funeral wail ! " 
1270 And another arrow flying 
Grazed his coat of mail. 

Turning to a Lapland yeoman. 

As the arrow passed. 
Said Earl Eric, " Shoot that bowman 
1275 Standing by the mast." 

Sooner than the word was spoken 

Flew the yeoman's shaft ; 



1256. Einar Tamberskelver is reckoned among Olaf s men " in the hold next 
the mast," but not yet fully experienced, being only eighteen years of age. 

12GG. Eyvind Skaldaspiller composed verses, called Jfakonarmal, on the 
death of Earl Hakon. 



110 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Einar's bow in twain was broken, 
Einar only laughed. 

1280 " What was that ? " said Olaf, standing 
On the quarter-deck. 
" Something heard I like the stranding 

Of a shattered wreck." 
Einar then, the arrow taking 
1285 From the loosened string, 

Answered, " That was Norway breaking 
From thy hand, O King ! " 

" Thou art but a poor diviner," 
Straightway Olaf said ; 
1290 " Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, 
Let thy shafts be sped." 
Of his bows the fairest choosing, 

Reached he from above ; 
Einar sav»^ the blooddrops oozing 
1295 Through his iron glove. 

But the bow was thin and narrow ; 

At the first essay, 
O'er its head he drew the arrow. 

Flung the bow away ; 
1300 Said, with hot and angry temper 

Flushing in his cheek, 
" Olaf I for so great a Kamper 

Are thy bows too weak I " 

Then, with smile of joy defiant 
1305 On his beardless lip, 

1302. Kamper = flght. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. Hi 

Scaled he, light and self-reliant, 

Eric's dragon-ship. 
Loose his golden locks were flowing, 
Bright his armor gleamed ; 
1310 Like Saint Michael overthrowing 
Lucifer he seemed. 



XXI. 

KING OLAf's death-drink. 

All day has the battle raged, 
All day have the ships engaged, 
But not yet is assuaged 
1315 The vengeance of Eric the Earl. 

The decks with blood are red, 
The arrows of death are sped, 
The shijis are filled with the dead, 
And the spears the champions hurl. 

1320 They drift as wrecks on the tide. 
The grappling-irons are plied, 
The boarders climb up the side. 
The shouts are feeble and few. 

Ah ! never shall Norway again 
1325 See her sailors come back o'er the main ; 
They all lie wounded or slain. 
Or asleep in the billows blue I 

On the deck stands Olaf the King, 
Around him whistle and sine: 



112 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

1330 The spears that the foemen fling, 

And the stones they hurl with their hands. 

In the midst of the stones and the spears, 
Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, 
His shield in the air he nprears, 
1235 By the side of King Olaf he stands. 

Over the slippery wreck 
Of the Long Serpent's deck 
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, 
His lips with anger are pale ; 

1340 He hews with his axe at the mast, 
Till it falls, with the sails overcast, 
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast 
Dim forests of Orkadale. 

Seeking King Olaf then, 

1345 He rushes aft with his men, 

As a hunter into the den 

Of the bear, when he stands at bay. 

" Remember Jarl Hakon ! " he cries ; 
When lo ! on his wondering eyes 
1360 Two kingly figures arise, 

Two Olaf s in warlike array ! 

Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear 
Of King Olaf a word of cheer, 

1333. " Kolbiorn, the marshal, who had on clothes and arms like the king's, 
and was a remarkably stout and handsome man, went up to the king on the 
quarter-deck." So says the Saga, and from this slight suggestion Mr. Long- 
fellow constructed the poetic incident that follows. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 113 

In a whisper that none may hear, 
1365 With a smile on his tremulous lip ; 

Two shields raised high in the air, 
Two flashes of goMen hair. 
Two scarlet meteors' glare, 

And hoth have l'eai>ed from the ship. 

1360 P^arl Eric's men in the boats 

Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats. 

And cry, from their hairy throats, 

'' See ! it is Olaf the King ! '* 

While far on the opposite side 
1385 Floats another shield on the tide. 
Like a jewel set in the wide 
Sea-current's eddying ring. 

There is told a wonderful tale. 
How the King stripped oif his mail, 
1370 Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, 
As he swam beneath the main ; 

But the young grew old and gray. 
And never, by night or by day. 
In his kingdom of Norroway 
1375 Was King Olaf seen again ! 

1368. "The report went immediately abroad, and was told by many, thnt 
King Olaf had cast off his coat of mail under water, and had swam, diving 
under the long ships, until he came to the Vendland cutter, and that Astrid's 
men had conveyed him to Vendland .... But, however this ni?y hnve been, 
King Olaf Tryggverson never came back again to his kingdom of Norwsy." 
Thus the Heimsh-ingla reports. There are several similar legends, as of King 
Arthur, of Frederic Barbarossa, and of HolgTer the Dane. 



114 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

XXIL 

THE NUif OF KIDAROS". 

In the convent €?£ Droiitlieim, 
Alone in her chamber 
Knelt Astrid the Abbess^ 
At midnight, adormg, 
1380 Beseeching, entreating 
The Virgin and Mother. 

She heard in the silence 
The voice of one speaking 
"Without in the darkness, 
S386 In gusts of the night-wind. 
Now louder, now nearer^ 
Now lost in the distance* 

Tlie voice of a stranger 
It seemed as she listened, 
1390 Of some one who answered 
Beseeching, imploring, 
A ciy from afar off 
She could not distinguish. 

The voice of Saint John, 
1395 The beloved disciple, 

1378. There is more than one Astrid in the Saga, and no one of them seems 
to have taken final refuge in a religions house. We may suppose that Mr. 
Longfellow imagines Olaf's mother in such a situation. By this means he 
rounds out the series of poems, making this a fine conclusion to the adveaturea 
which were introduced by The Challenge of Thor. 



TUB SAGA OF KING OLAF. 115 

Who wandered and waited 
The Master's appearance, 
Alone in the darkness, 
Unsheltered and friendless. 

1400 " It is accepted, 

The angry defiance, 

The challenge of battle ! 

It is accepted, 

But not with the weapons 
1408 Of war that thou wieldest ! 

" Cross against corselet. 
Love against hatred, 
Peace-cry for war-cry ! 
Patience is powerful ; 
1410 He that o'ercometh 

Hath power o'er the nations ! 

"• As torrents in summer. 
Half dried in their channels. 
Suddenly rise, though the 
1415 Sky is still cloudless. 

For rain has been falling 
Far off at their fountains ; 

" So hearts that are fainting 
Grow full to o'erflowing, 
1420 And they that behold it 
Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far off has been raining ! 



116 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

" Stronger than steel 
1425 Is the sword of the Spirit ; 
Swifter than arrows 
The light of the truth is, 
Greater than anger 
Is love, and subdueth ! 



143D " Thou art a phantom, 

A shape of the sea-mist, 

A shape of the brumal 

Rain, and the darkness 

Fearful and formless ; 
1435 Day dawns and thou art not ! 

" The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
1440 His faith shall not fail us ; 
Christ is eternal ! " 

INTERLUDE. 

A STRAIN of music closed the tale, 
A low, monotonous, funeral wail. 
That with its cadence, wild and sweet, 
Made the long Saga more complete. 

" Thank God," the Theologian said, 
" The reign of violence is dead. 
Or dying surely from the world ; 
While Love triumphant reigns instead, 
And in a brighter sky o'erhead 



INTERLUDE. 117 

10 His blessed banners are unfurled. 
And most of all thank God for this : 
The war and waste of clashing creeds 
Now end in words, and not in deeds, 
And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, 

15 For thoughts that men call heresies. 

" I stand without here in the porch, 

I hear the bell's melodious din, 

I hear the organ peal within, 

I hear the prayer, with words that scorch 

20 Like sparks from an inverted torch, 
I hear the sermon upon sin, 
With threatenings of the last account. 
And all, translated in the air, 
Reach me but as our dear Lord's Prayer, 

26 And as the Sermon on the Mount. 

*' Must it be Calvin, and not Christ ? 
Must it be Athanasian creeds, 
Or holy water, books, and beads ? 
Must struggling souls remain content 
30 With councils and decrees of Trent ? 
And can it be enough for these 
The Christian Church the year embalms 
With evergreens and boughs of palms, 
And fills the air with litanies ? 

35 " I know that yonder Pharisee 
Thanks God that he is not like me ; 
In my humiliation dressed, 
I only stand and beat my breast, 
And pray for human charity. 



118 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

40 " Not to one church alone, hut seven, 
The voice prophetic spake from heaven ; 
And unto each the promise came, 
Diversified, hut still the same ; 
For him that overcometh are 

4B The new name written on the stone, 

The raiment white, the crown, the throne. 
And I will give him the Morning Star ! 

"Ah! to how many Faith has heen 
No evidence of things unseen, 

60 But a dim shadow, that recasts 
The creed of the Phantasiasts, 
For whom no Man of Sorrows died, 
For whom the Tragedy Divine 
Was but a symbol and a sign 

55 And Christ a phantom crucified I 

" For others a diviner creed 
Is living in the life they lead. 
The passing of their beautiful feet 
Blesses the pavement of the street, 
60 And all their looks and words repeat 
Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet. 
Not as a vulture, but a dove, 
The Holy Ghost came from above. 



40. See the first chapter of the Booh of Revelation, of St. John the Divine. 

51. See the fifty-third chapter of the prophecy of Isaiah. 

52. Mr. Longfellow uses this term in his trilogy, Christus, the first part of 
which is The Divine Tragedy, suggested no doubt by Dante's Divina Corn- 
media. 

61. Thomas Fuller, a quaint English divine of the former half of the seveu- 
teenth century. 



INTERLUDE. 119 

" And this brings back to me a tale 
So sad the hearer well may quail, 
And question if such things can be ; 
Yet in the clironicles of Spain 
Down the dark pages runs this stain, 
And naught can wash them white again, 
So fearful is the tragedy." 



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Number 34 




TALES OF A WAYSIDE 

INN 

BY 

H. W. LONGFELLOW 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
AND NOTES 

IN THREE NUMBERS 

II. 



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2Dt)e Hitiersinc ^literature .^erte0 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 



IN THREE NUMBERS 
II. 




i\:^i^y 



HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 



j 



Copyriglit, 1863 and 1872, 
Br HENRY WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

Copyright, 1888, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS. 



The Theologian's Tale : Torquemada . 

Interlude 

The Poet's Tale: The Birds of Killingworth . 

Finale 

Part Second : Prelude 

The Sicilian's Tale: The Bell of Atri. 

Interlude 

The Spanish Jew's Tale : Kambalu . 

Interlude 

The Student's Tale: The Cobbler of Hagenau 

Interlude 

The Musician's Tale: The Ballad of Carmilhan 

Interlude 

The Poet's Tale : Lady Wentworth 

Interlude 

The Theologian's Tale : The Legend Beautiful 

Interlude 

The Student's Second Tale: The Baron of St. Cas- 
TINE 

Finale 



PAGE 
110 

127 
128 
138 
140 
145 
140 
151 
155 
15() 
104 

1G(; 

175 

177 
188 
185 
180 



190 
201 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

TORQUEMADA. 

In his diary, under date of December 5, 1862, at midnight, Mr. 
Longfellow writes : ' ' Finished Torquemada, — a dismal story of 
fanaticism, hut in its main points historic. See De Castro, Protes- 
tantes Espanolas, page 310." The reader will find a general 
account of Torquemada and the Spanish Inquisition, which was 
finally organized in 1483, in Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella, 
Part I. chap. 7. 

In the heroic days when Ferdinand 
And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, 
And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, 
Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of Spain, 

5 In a great castle near Valladolid, 
Moated and high, and by fair woodlands hid. 
There dwelt, as from the chronicles we learn. 
An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn, 
Whose name has perished, with his towers of stone, 

10 And all his actions save this one alone ; 
This one, so terrible, perhaps 't were best 
If it, too, were forgotten with the rest ; 
Unless, perchance, our eyes can see therein 
The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin ; 

15 A double picture, with its gloom and glow, 
The splendor overhead, the death below. 



120 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

This sombre man counted each day as lost 
On which his feet no sacred threshold crossed ; 
And when he chanced the passing Host to meet, 

20 He knelt and prayed devoutly in the street ; 

Oft he confessed ; and with each mutinous thought, 
As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he fought. 
In deep contrition scourged himself in Lent, 
Walked in processions, with his head down bent, 

26 At plays of Corpus Christi oft was seen. 

And on Palm Sunday bore his bough of green. 
His sole diversion was to hunt the boar 
Through tangled thickets of the forest hoar, 
Or with his jingling mules to hurry down 

30 To some grand bull-fight in the neighboring town. 
Or in the crowd with lighted taper stand. 
When Jews were burned, or banished from the 

land. 
Then stirred within him a tumultuous joy ; 
The demon whose delight is to destroy 

35 Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet tone, 
" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own ! " 

And now, in that old castle in the wood, 
His daughters, in the dawn of womanhood, 
Returning from their convent school, had made 
40 Resplendent with their bloom the forest shade. 
Reminding him of their dead mother's face, 
When first she came into that gloomy place, — 
A memory in his heart as dim and sweet 
As moonlight in a solitary street, 

22. See 1 Corinthians xv. 32. 

25. The festival of Corpus Christi, which falls on the Thursday after Trinity 
Sunday, is marked by processions with figures representing saints, and formerly 
also by miracle plays and pageants. 



TORQVEMADA. 12i 

45 Where the same rays, that lift the sea, are thrown 
Lovely but powerless upon walls of stone. 
These two fair daughters of a mother dead 
Were all the dream had left him as it fled. 

A joy at first, and then a growing care, 

50 As if a voice within him cried, " Beware ! " 
A vague presentiment of impending doom. 
Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, 
Haunted him day and night ; a formless fear 
That death to some one of his house was near, 

55 With dark surmises of a hidden crime, 
Made life itself a death before its time. 
Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of shame, 
A spy upon his daughters he became ; 
With velvet sli^Dpers, noiseless on the floors, 

60 He glided softly through half-open doors ; 
Now in the room, and now upon the stair. 
He stood beside them ere they were aware ; 
He listened in the passage Avhen they talked, 
He watched them from the casement • when they 
walked, 

65 He saw the gypsy haunt the river's side, 
He saw the monk among the cork-trees glide ; 
And, tortured by the mystery and the doubt 
Of some dark secret, past his finding out. 
Baffled he paused ; then reassured again 

70 Pursued the flying phantom of his brain. 

He watched them even when they knelt in church ; 
And then, descending lower in his search. 
Questioned the servants, and with eager eyes 
Listened incredulous to their replies ; 

75 The gypsy ? none had seen her in the wood I 
The monk ? a mendicant in search of food ! 



122 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

At length the awful revelation came, 

Crushmg at once his pride of hirth and name, — 

The hopes his yearning bosom forward cast, 

80 And the ancestral glories of the past, 
And fell together, crumbling in disgrace, 
A turret rent from battlement to base. 
His daughters talking in the dead of night 
In their own chamber, and without a light, 

85 Listening, as he was wont, he overheard. 

And learned the dreadful secret, word by w(Ti'd ; 
And hurrying from his castle, with a cry 
He raised his hands to the unpitying sky. 
Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree 

90 Caught it, and shuddering answered, " Heresy ! " 

Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face. 
Now hmTying forward, now with lingering pace, 
He walked all night the alleys of his park, 
"With one unseen companion in the dark, — 
95 The Demon who within him lay in wait 
And by his presence turned his love to hate, 
Forever muttering in an midertone, 
" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out his own ! " 

Upon the morrow, after early Mass, 
100 While yet the dew was glistening on the grass. 
And all the woods were musical with birds, 
The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, 
Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room 
Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom. 
105 When questioned, with brief answers they replied. 
Nor when accused evaded or denied ; 
Expostulations, passionate appeals, 



TORQUEMADA. 123 

All that the human heart most fears or feels, 
In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed ; 
110 In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed ; 
Until at last he said, with haughty mien, 
'' The Holy Office, then, must intervene ! " 

And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, 
With all the fifty horsemen of his train, 

115 His awful name resounding, lil^e the blast 
Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, 
Came to Valladolid, and there began 
To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. 
To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate 

120 Demanded audience on affairs of state, 
And in a secret chamber stood before 
A venerable graybeard of fourscore. 
Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar ; 
Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, 

125 And in his hand the mystic horn he held, 

Whicli ])oison and all noxious charms dispelled. 
He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale. 
Then answered in a voice that made him quail : 
" Son of the Church ! when Abraham of old 

130 To sacrilice his only son was told. 

He did not pause to parley nor protest, 
But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. 
In him it was accounted righteousness ; 
The Holy Church expects of thee no less 1 " 

125. "He lived in such constant apprehension of assassination, that he is 
said to have kept a reputed unicorn's horn always on his table, which was 
imagined to have the power of detecting and neutralizing poisons ; while, for 
the more complete protection of his person, he was allowed an escort of^fifty 
horse and two hundred foot in his progresses through the kingdom." 
COTT, Ferdinand and Isabella, Part I, chap. 7. 



124 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

135 A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, 
And Mercy from that hour implored in vain. 
Ah ! who will e'er believe the words I say ? 
His daughters he accused, and the same day 
They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, 

140 That dismal antechamber of the tomb, 

Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame. 
The secret torture and the public shame. 

Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more 
The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, 

145 And said : " When Abraham offered up his son, 
He clave the Avood wherewith it might be done. 
By his example taught, let me too bring 
Wood from the forest for my offering ! " 
And the deep voice, without a pause, replied : 

150 " Son of the Church ! by faith now justified, 
Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt ; 
The Church absolves thy conscience from all 
guilt ! " 

Then this most wretched father went his way 
Into the woods, that round his castle lay, 

155 Where once his daughters in their childhood played 
With their young mother in the sun and shade. 
Now all the leaves had fallen ; the branches bare 
Made a perpetual moaning in the air, 
And screaming from their eyries overhead 

160 Tlie ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead. 

With his own hands he lopped the boughs and 

bound 
Fagots, that crackled with foreboding sound, 
And on his mules, caparisoned and gay 
With bells and tassels, sent them on their way. 



TORQUEMADA. 126 

165 Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, 
Again to the Inquisitor he went, 
And said : '' Behold, the fagots I have brought, 
And now, lest my atonement be as naught. 
Grant me one more request, one last desire, — 

170 With my own hand to light the funeral fire ! " 
And Torquemada answered from his seat, 
" Son of the Church ! thine offering is complete ; 
Her servants through all ages shall not cease 
To magnify thy deed. Depart in peace ! " 

175 Upon the market-place, builded of stone. 

The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own. 
At the four corners, in stern attitude. 
Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood. 
Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes 

180 Upon this place of human sacrifice, 

Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, 
With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, 
And every roof and window was alive 
With restless gazers, swarming like a hive. 

185 The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew 
near. 
Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, 
A line of torches smoked along the street. 
There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet. 
And, with its banners floating in the air, 

190 Slowly the long procession crossed the square. 
And, to the statues of the Prophets bound. 
The victims stood, with fagots piled around. 
Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, 
And louder sang the monks with bell and book, 

178. Such a stone scaffold still remains at Seville. 



126 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

195 And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud. 

Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, 

Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, 

Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead ! 

O pitiless skies ! why did your clouds retain 
200 For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain ? 
O pitiless earth ! why open no abyss 
To bury in its chasm a crime like this ? 

That night, a mingled column of fire and smoke 
From the dark thickets of the forest broke, 

205 And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, 
Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day. 
Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, 
And as the villagers in terror gazed, 
They saw the figure of that cruel knight 

210 Lean from a window in the turret's height, 
His ghastly face illumined with the glare, 
His hands upraised above his head in prayer, 
Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell 
Down the black hollow of that burning well. 

215 Three centuries and more above his bones 

Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones ; 
His name has perished with him, and no trace 
Remains on earth of his afflicted race ; 
But Torquemada's name, with clouds o'ercast, 

220 Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, 
Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath. 
Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath ! 



INTERLUDE. 127 



INTERLUDE. 

Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom, 

That cast upon each listener's face 

Its shadow, and for some brief space 

Unbroken silence filled the room. 
5 The Jew was thoughtful and distressed ; 

Upon his memory thronged and pressed 

The persecution of his race, 

Their wrongs and sufferings and disgrace ; 

His head was sunk upon his breast, 
10 And from his eyes alternate came 

Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. 

The Student first the silence broke, 

As one who long has lain in wait. 

With purpose to retaliate, 
15 And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. 

" In such a company as this, 

A tale so tragic seems amiss. 

That by its terrible control 

O'ermasters and drags down the soul 
20 Into a fathomless abyss. 

The Italian Tales that you disdain, 

Some merry Night of Straparole, 

Or Macliiavelli's Belphegor, 

Would cheer us and delight us more, 
25 Give greater pleasure and less pain 

Than your grim tragedies of Spain ! " 

22. An Italian story-teller who imitated, in title at least, the Arabian 
Nights'' Entertaiaments. 

23. According to Macchiavelli, Belphegor was an archfiend who had been 
an archangel, and visited the earth to fpy out the infelicities of married life. 
Hia story is told in The Marriage of Belphegor. 



128 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And here the Poet raised his hand, 
With such entreaty and command, 
It stopped discussion at its birth, 
30 And said : " The story I shall tell 
Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; 
Listen, and hear what once befell 
The merry birds of Killingworth ! " 



THE POET'S TALE. 

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 

Killingworth, in Middlesex County, Connecticut, was named from 
the English town Kenilworth, in Warwickshire, whence its early 
settlers, the Griswolds, came, but was afterwards corrupted into 
its present form. The Indian name of the place was Hammonas- 
set, and had the same orthography in the early records. Sixty or 
seventy years ago, according to Mr. Henry Hull, writing' from 
personal recollection, " the men of the northern part of the town 
did yearly in the spring- choose two leaders, and then the two 
sides were formed : the side that got beaten should pay the bills. 
Their special game was the hawk, the owl, the crow, the black- 
bird, and any other bird supposed to be mischievous to the corn. 
Some years each side would bring them in by the bushel. This 
was followed up for only a few years, for the birds began to grow 
scarce." The story, based upon some such slight suggestion, was 
Mr. Longfellow's own invention. It is, indeed, one of the few 
stories which he may be said to have invented. 

It was the season when through all the land 
The merle and mavis build, and building sing 

Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, 

Whom Saxon Csedmon calls the Blithe-heart 
King; 

4. Csedmon (pronounced Kedmon) was the earliest English poet, and his 
Metrical Paraphrase of Paris of the Holy Scriptures in Anglo-Saxon is his 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 129 

6 When on the boughs the purple buds expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 
And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 
And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 
10 Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; 
The sparrows chirped as if they still were j^roud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be ; 
And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd. 
Clamored their piteous j^rayer incessantly, 
16 Knowing who hears the raven's cry, and said : 
" Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread ! " 

Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed. 

Speaking some unknown language strange and 
sweet 
Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 
20 The village with the cheers of all their fleet ; 
Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the street 
Of seaport town, and \A\h. outlandish noise 
Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls and boys. 

most famous work. In this, when treating of the birth of Adam and Eve, he 
says : — 

" Then blessed 
the blithe-heart King, 
the Lord of all things, 
of mankind 
the first two, 
father and mother, 
female and male. 
Then spake he the words : 
' Teem now and increase.' " 
12. See S. Matthew x. 29-31. 



130 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

25 Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; 
And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, 
Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, 
That mingled with the universal mirth, 
30 Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 

They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful 

words 
To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 

And a town-meeting was convened straightway 
To set a price upon the guilty heads 
35 Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay. 

Levied black-mail upon the garden-beds 
• And cornfields, and beheld without dismay 

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds ; 
The skeleton that waited at their feast, 
40 Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 

Then from his house, a temi)le painted white. 
With fluted columns, and a roof of red. 

The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight ! 
Slowly descending, with majestic tread, 

39. Herodotus, ii. 78, relates that the Egyptians at their feasts display a 
carved image of a mummy, to remind the guests that one day they, too, will 
come to this end. Plutarch, who was a very serious man, took this as intend- 
ing an exhortation to sobriety, but modern commentators generally under- 
stand the custom to signify, " Let us eat and drii.k, for to-morrow we die." 
Jeremy Taylor, perhaps as much as any one, helped to familiarize the idea in 
English speech. Several times he refers to the Egyptian custom of having a 
skeleton at the feast, once in his widely read book Holy Living and Dying, 
chap. ii. sect. 1. 

43. The Ensrlish term " Squire,'' applied to country gentlemen who have cer- 
tain magisterial duties, passed over in New England into a term applied to a 
prominent man in village life, often a lawyer or justice of the peace. The full 
form is Esquire, and as a title abbreviated to Esq., is used in America at 
random in addressing letters, though in England it is more restricted in use. 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 131 

45 Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 

Down the long street he walked, as one who said, 
'' A town that boasts inhabitants like me 
Can have no lack of good society ! " 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, 
50 The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 

The wrath of God he preached from year to year, 

And read with fervor, Edwards on the Will ; 
His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 
In Summer on some Adirondac hill ; 
65 E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, 
He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 
The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 

Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 
60 Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 

And all absorbed in reveries profound 
Of fair Almira in the upper class, 

Who was, as in a sonnet he had said. 

As pure as water, and as good as bread. 

65 And next the Deacon issued from his door. 

In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; 
A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 

His form was ponderous, and his step was slow ; 
Tliere never was so wise a man before ; 
70 He seemed the incarnate " Well, I told you so ! " 



52. Jonathan Edwards, a great New England divine of the former half of 
the eighteenth century, whose theology had a strong influence on his own 
and later generations, wrote a metaphysical treatise on The Freedom of the 
Will. 



132 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And to perpetuate liis great renown 

There was a street named after him in town. 

These came together in the new town-hall, 
With sundry farmers from the region round. 
75 The Squire presided, dignified and tall. 

His air im23ressive and his reasoning sound. 
Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small ; 

Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, 
But enemies enough, who every one 
80 Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 

When they had ended, from his place apart 

Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong. 

And, trembling like a steed before the start. 

Looked round bewildered on the expectant 
throng ; 
85 Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart 

To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, 
Alike regardless of their smile or frown. 
And quite determined not to be laughed down : 

" Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 
90 From his Republic banished without pity 
The Poets. In this little town of yours. 

You put to death, by means of a Committee, 
The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 
The street-musicians of the heavenly city, 
95 The birds, who make sweet music for us all 
In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 

91. See The Republic, ii. 438. 
96. See 1 Samuel, chapter xvi. 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 133 

" The thrush that carols at the dawn of day 
From the green steeples of the pmy wood ; 
The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 
100 Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 

The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, 

Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng 
That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song ; 

105 " You slay them all ! And wherefore ? For the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less of wheat. 
Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, 

Scratched up at random by industrious feet, 
Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! 
110 Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 
As are the songs these uninvited guests 
Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. 

" Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these ? 
Do you ne'er think who made them, and who 
taught 
115 The dialect they speak, where melodies 
Alone are the interpreters of thought ? 
Whose household words are songs in many keys, 
Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
120 Are halfway houses on the road to heaven ! 

" Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove. 
How jubilant the happy birds renew 

Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! 

124. " Melodious birds sing madrigals." — Marlowe. 



134 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

125 And when you think of this, remember too 

'T is always morning somewhere, and above 
The awakening continents, from shore to shore, 
Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 

"Think of your woods and orchards without 
birds ! 
130 Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams 
As in an idiot's brain remembered words 

Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams ! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds 
Make up for the lost music, when your teams 
135 Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door ? 

" What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the hay, 
And hear the locust and the grasshopper 
140 Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play ? 
Is this more pleasant to you than the whir 

Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, 
Or twitter of little fieldfares, as you take 
Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake ? 

145 " You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know, 
They are the winged wardens of your farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe. 

And from your harvests keep a hundred harms ; 
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 
150 Renders good service as your man-at-arms, 
Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 135 

" How can I teach your children gentleness, 
And mercy to the weak, and reverence 
155 For Life, which, in its weakness or excess. 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, 
Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 
The selfsame light, although averted hence. 
When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, 
160 You contradict the very things I teach ?" 

With this he closed ; and through the audience 
went 
A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 
Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; 
165 Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 

Wlio put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. 
The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, 
A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 

There was another audience out of reach, 
170 Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 
But in the papers read his little speech, 

And crowned his modest temples with applause ; 
They made him conscious, each one more than 
each, 
He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 
175 Sweetest of all the ajjplause he won from thee, 
O fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so the dreadful massacre began ; 

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland 
crests, 
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 



186 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

180 Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their 
breasts, 
Or wounded crei)t away from sight of man, 

While the young died of famine in their negts ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not words, 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 

185 The Summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals ; the very ground 
Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed 

Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden beds 
190 Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 
No foe to check their march, till they had made 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 

Devoured b}^ worms, like Herod, was the town, 
Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
195 Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun 
down 
The canker-worms upon the passers-by, 
Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, 

Who shook them off with just a little cry ; 
They were the terror of each favorite walk, 
200 The endless theme of all the village talk. 

The farmers grew impatient, but a few 

Confessed their error, and would not complain, 

184. The massacre of St. Bartholomew was the sudden destruction of Frencii 
Protestants by order of the ruling sovereign Charles IX., at the instance of his 
mother, Catherine de Mediois, begun on St. Bartholomew's Day, i. e. between 
the 24th and 25th of August, 1572. 

193, See Acts of the Apostles xii. 21-23. But the Herod of this death was 
Herod Agrippa, grandson to Herod the Great, who ordered the massacre of the 
Innocents. 



THE BIRDS OF KILLING WORTH. 137 

For after all, the best thing one can do 

When it is raining, is to let it rain. 
205 Then they repealed the law, although they knew 

It would not call the dead to life again ; 
As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, 
Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. 

That year in Killingworth the Autumn came 
210 Without the light of his majestic look, 
The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 

The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. 
A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame. 
And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, 
215 While the wind went moaning everywhere. 
Lamenting the dead children of the air ! 

But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, 
A sight that never yet by bard was sung, 

As great a wonder as it would have been 
220 If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 

A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 

Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, 

All full of singing-birds, came down the street. 

Filling the air with music wild and sweet. 

225 From all the country round these birds were 
brought. 
By order of the town, with anxious quest. 
And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 

212. The original Doom's-Day or Domesday book was a registration of all 
tlie lands in tiie kingdom of England, ordered by William the Conqueror. By 
it he was enabled to know just what the resources of men and money were on 
which he could depend. But the term is also applied to the judgment-book, 
or book of the day of doom. 



138 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

In woods and fields the places they loved best, 
Singing loud canticles, which many thought 
230 Were satires to the authorities addressed, 
While others, listening in green lanes, averred 
Such lovely music never had been heard ! 

But blither still and louder carolled they 
Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know 
235 It was the fair Almira's wedding-day. 

And everywhere, around, above, below, 
When the Preceptor bore his bride away, 

Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, 
And a new heaven bent over a new earth 
240 Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 



FINALE. 

The hour was late ; the fire burned low, 
The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep 
Sonorous sound at times was heard, 
As when thexlistant bagpipes blow. 
At this all laughed ; the Landlord stirred, 
As one awaking from a s wound. 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 
His ears attentive to each word. 

Then all arose, and said " Good night." 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 
To rake the embers of the fire, 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 139 

And quench the waning parlor light ; 
While from the windows, here and there, 
The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 
Sinking and setting toward the sun. 
Far off the village clock struck one. 



PART SECOND. 
PRELUDE. 

A COLD, uninterrupted rain. 

That washed each southern window-pane, 

And made a river of the road ; 

A sea of mist that overflowed 
f5 The house, the barns, the gilded vane, 

And drowned the upland and the plain. 

Through which the oak-trees, broad and high, 

Like phantom ships went drifting by ; 

And, hidden behind a watery screen, 
10 The sun unseen, or only seen 

As a faint pallor in the sky ; — 

Thus cold and colorless and gray, 

The morn of that autumnal day, 

As if reluctant to begin, 
15 Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, 

And all the guests that in it lay. 

Full late they slept. They did not hear 
The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, 
"Who on the empty threshing-floor, 
20 Disdainful of the rain outside, 

18. Chanticleer, or shrill singer, is an old term for the cock. Chaucer uses it 
in his Nun Priest's tale of The Cock and the Hen, and from the manner in 
wliich he introduces the name, it would appear to be a little novel then to 
English ears. 



PRELUDE. 141 

Was strutting with a martial stride, 
As if upon his thigh he wore 
The famous broadsword of the Squire, 
And said, " Behold me, and admire ! " 

25 Only the Poet seemed to hear, 

In drowse or dream, more near and near 
Across the border-land of sleep 
The blowing of a blithesome horn. 
That laughed the dismal day to scorn ; 

30 A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels 

Through sand and mire like stranding keels, 
As from the road with sudden sweep 
The Mail drove up the little steep. 
And stopped beside the tavern door ; 

35 A moment stopped, and then again 
With crack of whip and bark of dog 
Plunged forward through the sea of fog, 
And all was silent as before, — 
All silent save the dripping rain. 

40 Then one by one the guests came down, 

And greeted with a smile the Squire, 

Who sat before the parlor fire, 

Reading the paper fresh from town. 

First the Sicilian, like a bird, 
45 Before his form appeared, was heard 

Whistling and singing down the stair ; 

Then came the Student, with a look 

As placid as a meadow-brook ; 

The Theologian, still perplexed 
50 With thoughts of this world and the next ; 

The Poet then, as one who seems 

Walking in visions and in dreams ; 



142 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then the Musician, like a fair 
Hyperion from whose golden hair 

65 The radiance of the morning streams ; 
And last the aromatic Jew 
Of Alicant, who, as he threw 
The door wide open, on the air 
Breathed round about him a perfume 

60 Of damask roses in full bloom, 
Making a garden of the room. 

The breakfast ended, each pursued 
The promptings of his various mood ; 
Beside the fire in silence smoked 

65 The taciturn, impassive Jew, 
Lost in a pleasant revery ; 
While, by his gravity provoked, 
His portrait the Sicilian drew, 
And wrote beneath it " Edrehi, 

70 At the Red Horse in Sudbury." 

By far the busiest of them all, 
The Theologian in the hall 
Was feeding robins in a cage, — 
Two corpulent and lazy birds, 

75 Vagrants and pilferers at best. 

If one might trust the hostler's words, 
Chief instrument of their arrest ; 
Two poets of the Golden Age, 
Heirs of a boundless heritage 

80 Of fields and orchards, east and west, 
And sunshine of long summer days. 
Though outlawed now and dispossessed ! 
Such was the Theologian's phrase. 



PRELUDE. 143 

Meanwhile the Student held discourse 
85 With the Musician, on the source 

Of all the legendary lore 

Among the nations, scattered wide 

Like silt and seaweed by the force 

And fluctuation of the tide ; 
90 The tale repeated o'er and o'er, 

With change of place and change of name, 

Disguised, transformed, and yet the same 

We 've heard a hundred times before. 

The Poet at the window mused, 
95 And saw, as in a dream confused. 

The countenance of the Sun, discrowned, 

And haggard with a pale despair. 

And saw the cloud-rack trail and drift 

Before it, and the trees uplift 
100 Their leafless branches, and the air 

Filled with the arrows of the rain. 

And heard amid the mist below, 

Like voices of distress and pain, 
• That haunt the thoughts of men insane, 
105 The fateful cawings of the crow. 

Then down the road, with mud besprent. 
And drenched with rain from head to hoof, 
The raindrops dripping from his mane 
And tail as from a pent-house roof, 
110 A jaded horse, his head down bent. 
Passed slowly, limping as he went. 

The young Sicilian — who had grown 
Impatient longer to abide 



144 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A prisoner, greatly mortified 

115 To see completely overthrown 
His plans for angling in the brook, 
And, leaning o'er the bridge of stone, 
To watch the speckled trout glide by, 
And float through the inverted sky, 

120 Still round and round the baited hook — 
Now paced the room with rapid stride, 
And, pausing at the Poet's side. 
Looked forth, and saw the wretched steed, 
And said : " Alas for human greed, 

125 That with cold hand and stony eye 
Thus turns an old friend out to die, 
Or beg his food from gate to gate ! 
This brings a tale into my mind. 
Which, if you are not disinclined 

130 To listen, I will now relate." 

All gave assent ; all wished to hear, 

Not without many a jest and jeer, 

The story of a spavined steed ; 

And even the Student with the rest 
135 Put in his pleasant little jest 

Out of Malherbe, that Pegasus 

Is but a horse that with all speed 

Bears poets to the hospital ; 

While the Sicilian, self-possessed, 
140 After a moment's interval 

Began his simple story thus. 

136, Malherbe was a French poet and satirist, who lived in the latter half of 
the sixteenth and first quarter of the seventeenth century. Mr, Longfellow 
has translated some of his verses. 



THE BELL OF ATRL 145 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

THE BELL OF ATRI. 

In the Gesta Bomanorum, No. CV, is the story of The Bell of 
Justice, of which The Bell of Atri is a variation. See also Gual- 
teruzzi's Cento Novella Antiche. The editor takes pleasure in 
recalling- the fact that when, shortly before Mr. Longfellow's 
death, he had prepared a brief selection of poems for school use, 
and had submitted the choice to the poet, Mr. Longfellow desired 
to add The Bell of Atri and The Sermon of St. Francis, so earnestly 
did he regard every opportunity for encouraging a kindly interest 
in dumb animals. 

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town 
Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, 
One of those little places that have run 
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, 

5 And then sat down to rest, as if to say, 
" I climb no farther upward, come what may," — 
The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, 
So many monarchs since have borne the name, 
Had a great bell hung in the market-place, 

10 Beneath a roof, projecting some small space 
By way of shelter from the sun and rain. 
Then rode he through the streets with all his train, 
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, 
Made proclamation, that whenever wrong 

3 5 Was done to any man, he should but ring 
The great bell in the square, and he, the King, 
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. 
Such was the proclamation of King John. 

7. Re Giovanni would be in English King John. See line 18. 



146 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

How swift the happy days in Atri sped, 
20 What wi'oiigs were righted, need not here be said. 
Suffice it that, as all things must decay. 
The hempen rope at length was worn away. 
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand, 
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, 
25 Till one, who noted this in passing by. 
Mended the rope with braids of briony, 
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine 
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. 

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt 
30 A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, 
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods. 
Who loved his falcons with their' crimson hoods, 
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports 
And prodigalities of camps and courts ; — 
35 Loved, or had loved them ; for at last, grown old, 
His only passion was the love of gold. 
He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, 
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, 
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, 
40 To starve and shiver in a naked stall. 
And day by day sat brooding in his chair. 
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. 

At length he said : " What is the use or need 
To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, 
45 Eating his head off in my stables here, ' 

When rents are low and provender is dear ? 
Let him go feed upon the public ways ; 
I want him only for the holidays." 
So the old steed was turned into the heat 



THE BELL OF ATRL 147 

50 Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street ; 
And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, 
Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. 

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime 

It is the custom in the summer time, 
55 With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, 

The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed ; 

When suddenly upon their senses fell 

The loud alarm of the accusing bell ! 

The Syndic started from his deep repose, 
60 Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose 

And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace 

Went panting forth into the market-place. 

Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung, 

Reiterating with persistent tongue, 
65 In half -articulate jargon, the old song : 

" Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong ! " 

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade 
He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, 
No shape of human form of woman born, 

70 But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, 
Who with uplifted head and eager eye 
Was tugging at the vines of briony. 
" Domeneddio ! " cried the Syndic straight, 
" This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state ! 

75 He calls for justice, being sore distressed. 
And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." 

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd 
"Had rolled together like a summer cloud, 
And told the story of the wretched beast 



148 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

80 In five-and-twenty different ways at least, 

With much gesticulation and appeal 

To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. 

The Knight was called and questioned ; in reply 

Did not confess the fact, did not deny ; 
85 Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, 

And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, 

Maintaining, in an angry undertone, 

That he should do what pleased him with his own. 

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read 
90 The proclamation of the King ; then said : 

" Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay. 
But cometh back on foot, and begs its way ; 
Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds. 
Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds ! 
95 These are familiar proverbs ; but I fear 

They never yet have reached your knightly ear. 
What fair renown, what honor, what repute 
Can come to you from starving this poor brute ? 
He who serves well and speaks not, merits more 
100 Than they who clamor loudest at the door. 
Therefore the law decrees that as this steed 
Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed 
To comfort his old age, and to provide 
Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." 

105 The Knight withdrew abashed ; the people all 
Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. 
The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, 
And cried aloud : " Right well it pleaseth me ! 
Church-bells at best but ring us to the door ; 

110 But go not in to mass ; my bell doth more : 



INTERLUDE, 149 

It Cometh into court and pleads the cause 
Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws : 
And this shall make, in every Christian clime, 
The Bell of Atri famous for all time." 



INTERLUDE. 

" Yes, well your story pleads the cause 
Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, 
Only a cry from each to each 
In its own kind, with its own laws ; 

5 Something that is beyond the reach 
Of hiftnan power to learn or teach, — 
An inarticulate moan of pain, 
Like the immeasurable main 
Breaking upon an unknown beach." 

10 Thus spake the Poet with a sigh ; 
Then added, with impassioned cry 
As one who feels the words he speaks. 
The color flushing in his cheeks. 
The fervor burning in his eye : 

15 '* Among the noblest in the land, 

Though he may count himself the least, 
That man I honor and revere 
Who without favor, without fear, 
In the great city dares to stand 

20 The friend of every friendless beast. 
And tames with his unflinching hand 
The brutes that wear our form and face, 
The were-wolves of the human race ! " 
Then paused, and waited with a frown, 

26 Like some old champion of romance, 



160 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Who, having thrown his gauntlet down, 
Expectant leans upon his lance ; 
But neither Knight nor Squire is found 
To raise the gauntlet from the ground, 
30 And try with him the battle's chance. 

" Wake from your dreams, Edrehi ! 

Or dreaming speak to us, and make 

A feint of being half awake, 

And tell us what your dreams may be. 
35 Out of the hazy atmosphere 

Of cloud-land deign to reappear 

Among us in this Wayside Inn ; 

Tell us what visions and what scenes 

Illuminate the dark ravines 
40 In which you grope your way. Begin ! " 

Thus the Sicilian spake. The Jew 
Made no reply, but only smiled, 
As men unto a wayward child, 
Not knowing what to answer, do. 

45 As from a cavern's mouth, o'ergrown 
With moss and intertangled vines, 
A streamlet leaps into the light 
And murmurs over root and stone 
In a melodious undertone ; 

DO Or as amid the noonday night 
Of sombre and wind-haunted pines 
There runs a sound as of the sea ; 
So from his bearded lips there came 
A melody without a name, 

66 A song, a tale, a history, 
Or whatsoever it may be, 
Writ and recorded in these lines. 



KAMBALU. 151 

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

KAMBALU. 

The suggestion for this story came from The Book of Ser Marco 
Polo. Marco Polo was a Venetian who, in the latter part of the 
thirteenth century, travelled in the East, and brought back won- 
derful stories of what was then a land almost unknown to Europe. 
The passage in his Book from which Kambalu is derived is as fol- 
lows : " Now it came to pass on a day in the year of Christ 1255, 
that the Lord of the Tartars of the Levant, whose name was 
Alaii, brother to the Great Khan now reigning, gathered a mighty 
host and came up against Baudas, and took it by storm. It was 
a great enterprise, for in Baudas there were more than 100,000 
horse, besides foot-soldiers. And when Alaii had taken the place, 
he found therein a tower of the Kalif's, which was full of gold 
and silver and other treasure ; in fact, the greatest accumulation 
of treasure in one spot that ever was known. When he beheld 
that great heap of treasure he was astonished, and summoning the 
Kalif to his presence, he said to him : ' Kalif , tell me now why 
thou hast gathered such a huge treasure ? What didst thou mean 
to do therewith ? Knewest thou not that I was thine enemy, and 
that I was coming against thee with so great a host to cast thee 
forth of thine heritage ? Wherefore didst thou not take of thy 
gear and employ it in paying knights and soldiers to defend thee 
and thy city ? ' The Kalif wist not what to answer, and said 
never a word. So the Prince continued : ' Now then, Kalif, since 
I see what a love thou hast borne thy treasure, I will e'en give it 
thee to eat ! ' So he shut the Kalif up in the Treasure Tower, 
and bade that neither meat nor drink should be given him, say- 
ing, ' Now, Kalif, eat of thy treasure as much as thou wilt, since 
thou art so fond of it ; for never shalt thou have aught else to 
eat! ' So the Kalif lingered in the tower four days, and then 
died like a dog. Truly his treasure would have been of more 
service to him had he bestowed it upon men who would have de- 
fended his kingdom and his people, rather than let himself be 
taken and deposed and put to death as he was. Howbeit, since 



152 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

that time there has never been another Kalif , either at Baudas or 
anywhere else." 

Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms afar, 

6 Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, 
Rode the great captain Alaii. 
The Khan from his palace-window gazed 
And saw in the thronging street beneath, 
In the light of the setting sun, that blazed 

10 Thi'ough the clouds of dust by the caravan raised. 
The flash of harness and jewelled sheath. 
And the shining scimitars of the guard, 
And the weary camels that bared their teeth, 
As they passed and passed through the gates un- 
barred 

16 Into the shade of the palace-yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 

Rode the great captain Alaii ; 

And he stood before the Khan, and said : 
" The enemies of my lord are dead ; 
20 All the Kalifs of all the West 

Bow and obey thy least behest ; 

The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees, 

The weavers are busy in Samarcand, 

The miners are sifting the golden sand, 
25 The divers plunging for pearls in the seas, 

And peace and plenty are in the land. 



1. The Kambalu of Marco Polo, who places it m Cathay, is supposed to be 
Pekin. 



K A MB ALU. 163 

'' Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone, 

Rose in revolt against thy throne : 

His treasures are at thy palace-door, 
30 With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he 
wore ; 

His body is dust o'er the desert blown. 

" A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 
I left my forces to lie in wait, 
Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand, 

35 And forward dashed with a handful of men, 
To lure the old tiger from his den 
Into the ambush I had planned. 
Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread, 
For we heard the sound of gongs from within ; 

40 And with clash of cymbals and warlike din 
The gates swung wide ; and we turned and fled ; 
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued. 
With the gray old Kalif at their head. 
And above them the banner of Mohammed : 

46 So we snared them all, and the town was subdued. 

" As in at the gate we rode, behold, 
A tower that is called the Tower of Gold ! 
For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth, 
Heaped and hoarded and piled on high, 

50 Like sacks of wheat in a granary ; 
And thither the miser crept by stealth 
To feel of the gold that gave him health. 
And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye 
On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark, 

55 Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. 



154 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

" I said to the Kalif : ' Thou art old, 

Thou hast no need of so much gold ; 

Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, 

Till the breath of battle was hot and near, 
60 But have sown through the land these useless 
hoards 

To sjjring into shining blades of swords, 

And keep thine honor sweet and clear. 

These grains of gold are not grains of wheat ; 

These bars of silver thou canst not eat ; 
65 These jewels and pearls and precious stones 

Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 

Nor keep the feet of Death one hour 

From climbing the stairways of thy tower ! ' 

*' Then into his dungeon I locked the drone, 
70 And left him to feed there all alone 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive ; 
Never a prayer, nor a cry, nor a groan 
Was heard from those massive walls of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive ! 

75 " When at last we unlocked the door, 
We found him dead upon the floor ; 
The rings had dropped from his withered hands, 
His teeth were like bones in the desert sands : 
Still clutching his treasure he had died ; 

80 And as he lay there, he appeared 
A statue of gold with a silver beard, 
His arms outstretched as if crucified." 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alaii 



INTERLUDE. 155 

85 Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, 
When he rode that day into Kambalu 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. 



INTERLUDE. 

" I THOUGHT before your tale began," 
The Student murmured, " we should have 
Some legend written by Judah Rav 
In his Gemara of Babylon ; 

5 Or something from the Gulistan, — 
The Tale of the Cazy of Hamadan, 
Or of that King of Khorasan 
Who saw in dreams the eyes of one 
That had a hundred years been dead 

10 Still moving restless in his head, 

Undimmed, and gleaming with the lust 
Of power, though all the rest was dust. 

" But lo ! your glittering caravan 

On the road that leadeth to Ispahan 
15 Hath led us farther to the East 
Into the regions of Cathay. 
Spite of your Kalif and his gold. 
Pleasant has been the tale you told, 
And full of color ; that at least 

4. The Gemara (Ghard) is the second part of the Jewish Talmud. Tliere 
were two principal versions, one set forth by the schools of Babylon, the 
other by those of Palestine. 

5. The Gulistan, or Rose Garden, is a collection of moral tales by Saadi of 
Shiraz, a Persian poet. The tales have been translated into English, and an 
American edition appeared in 18G5, with a preface by R. W. Emerson, who 
makes frequent reference to Saadi in his essays, and translates some of his 
verses. 



156 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

20 No one will question nor gainsay. 
And yet on such a dismal day 
We need a merrier tale to clear 
The dark and heavy atmosphere. 
So listen, Lordlings, while I tell, 

25 Without a preface, what befell 
A simple cobbler, in the year — 
No matter ; it was long ago ; 
And that is all we need to know.'* 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 

This story was drawn from D'Aubign^'s " History of the Refor- 
mation," i. 220. 

I TRUST that somewhere and somehow 

You all have heard of Hagenau, 

A quiet, quaint, and ancient town 

Among the green Alsatian hills, 
5 A 2)lace of valleys, streams, and mills, 

Where Barbarossa's castle, brown 

With rust of centuries, still looks down 

On the broad, drowsy land below, — 

On shadowy forests filled with game, 
10 And the blue river winding slow 

Through meadows, where the hedges grow 

That give this little town its name. 



It happened in the good old times, 
While yet the Master-singers fiUec 



filled 

14. The Master-singers of Germany were successors to the Minnesingers, and 
were organized guilds of verse-makers. The most famous of them was Hans 



^0 






THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 157 

16 The noisy workshop and the guild 

With various melodies and rhymes, 

That here in Hagenau there dwelt 

A cobbler, — one who loved debate, 

And, arguing from a postulate, 
20 Would say what others only felt ; 

A man of forecast and of thrift. 

And of a shrewd and careful mind 

In this world's business, but inclined 

Somewhat to let the next world drift. 

25 Hans Sachs with vast delight he read, 

And Regenbogen's rhymes of love. 

For their poetic fame had sprea'd 

Even to the town of Hagenau ; 

And some Quick Melody of the Plough, 
30 Or Double Harmony of the Dove 

Was always running in his head. 

He kept, moreover, at his side. 

Among his leathers and his tools, 

Reynard the Fox, the Ship of Fools, 
35 Or Eulenspiegel, open wide ; 



Sachs, of whom Longfellow has written elsewhere in his poem Nuremberg. A 
good account of the craft may be fomid in Bayard Taylor's Studies in Ger- 
man Literature, chap. V : The Literature of the Reformation. 

29. The harmonies, or tunes, of the Master-singers were of great antiquity, 
and bore quaint names like those given in this line and the next. Other 
names were, the Long Tail of the Swallow ; the Hard Melody of the Field ; the 
Melody of the File : the last, one would hardly care to hear, if it is to be 
taken literally. These harmonies were supposed to originate with the twelve 
founders of the School of Song. 

34. Reynard the Fox is an old German satire, written during the middle 
ages, which, under the guise of the adventures of a fox at the court of the lion, 
commented on the church and barons. Goethe rewrote the satire in more pol- 
ished verse. The Ship of Fools was another rather coarse piece of German 
humor, written just before the Reformation. 

35. Or Till Owlglass, in the English version. 



158 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

With these he was much edified : 

He thought them wiser than the Schools. 

His good wife, full of godly fear, 
Liked not these worldly themes to hear ; 

40 The Psalter was her hook of songs ; 
The only music to her ear 
Was that which to the Church belongs. 
When the loud choir on Sunday chanted, 
And the two angels carved in wood, 

45 That by the windy organ stood, 

Blew on their trumpets loud and clear. 
And all the echoes, far and near. 
Gibbered as if the church were haunted. 

Outside his door, one afternoon, 
50 This humble votary of the muse 
Sat in the narrow strip of shade 
By a projecting cornice made. 
Mending the Burgomaster's shoes. 
And singing a familiar tune : — 

55 " Our ingress into the world 

Was naked and bare ; 
Our progress through the world 

Is trouble and care ; 
Our egress from the world 
60 Will be nobody knows where : 
But if we do well here 

We shall do well there ; 
And I could tell you no more, 

Should I preach a whole year ! " 

64. These lines are to be found in The Eccentricities of John Edioin, Come- 
dian, arranged and digested by Anthony Pasquin. [John Williams], 1791. 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 159 

65 Thus sang the cobbler at his work ; 
And with his gestures marked the time, 
Closing together with a jerk 
Of his waxed thread the stitch and rhyme. 

Meanwhile his quiet little dame 
70 Was leaning o'er the window-sill, 

Eager, excited, but mouse-still, 

Gazing impatiently to see 

What the great throng of folk might be 

That onward in procession came, 
75 Along the unfrequented street. 

With horns that blew, and drums that beat. 

And banners flying, and the flame 

Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet 

Voices of nuns ; and as they sang, 
80 Suddenly all the church-bells rang. 

In a gay coach, above the crowd. 

There sat a monk in ample hood, 

Who with his right hand held aloft 

A red and ponderous cross of wood, 
85 To which at times he meekly bowed. 

In front three horsemen rode, and oft. 

With voice and air importunate, 

A boisterous herald cried aloud : 

"The grace of God is at your gate ! " 
90 So onward to the church they passed. 

The cobbler slowly turned his last. 
And, wagging his sagacious head. 

Tradition also refers them to Benjamin Franklin, with whose philosophy and 
form of expression they certainly agree; but in the absence of other evidence 
it is to be presumed that Franklin quoted from Edwin. 



160 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Unto his kneeling housewife said : 
" 'T is the monk Tetzel. I have heard 
95 The cawings of that reverend bird. 
Don't let him cheat you of your gold ; 
Indulgence is not bought and sold." 

The church of Hagenau, that night. 

Was full of people, full of light ; 
100 An odor of incense filled the air, 

The priest intoned, the organ groaned 

Its inarticulate despair ; 

The candles on the altar blazed. 

And full in front of it upraised 
105 The red cross stood against the glare. 

Below, upon the altar-rail 

Indulgences were set to sale, 

Like ballads at a country fair. 

A heavy strong-box, iron-bound 
110 And carved with many a quaint device. 

Received, with a melodious sound, 

The coin that purchased Paradise. 

Then from the pulpit overhead, 
Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, 

115 Thundered upon the crowd below. 

'' Good people all, draw near ! " he said : 
" Purchase these letters, signed and sealed, 
By which all sins, though unrevealed 
And unrepented, are forgiven ! 

120 Count but the gain, count not the loss ! 
Your gold and silver are but dross, 
And yet they pave the way to heaven. 
I hear your mothers and your sires 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 161 

Cry from their purgatorial fires, 
125 And will ye not their ransom pay ? 

O senseless people ! when the gate 

Of heaven is open, will ye wait ? 

Will ye not enter in to-day ? 

To-morrow it will be too late ; 
130 I shall be gone upon my way. 

Make haste ! bring money while ye may ! " 

The women shuddered, and turned pale ; 

Allured by hope or driven by fear. 

With many a sob and many a tear, 
135 All crowded to the altar-rail. 

Pieces of silver and of gold 

Into the tinkling strong-box fell 

Like pebbles droj)ped into a well ; 

And soon the ballads were all sold. 
140 The cobbler's wife among the rest 

Slipped into the capacious chest 

A golden florin ; then withdrew, 

Hiding the paper in her breast ; 

And homeward through the darkness went 
145 Comforted, quieted, content ; 

She did not walk, she rather flew, 

A dove that settles to her nest. 

When some appalling bird of prey 

That scared her has been driven away. 

150 The days went by, the monk was gone, 
The summer passed, the winter came ; 
Though seasons changed, yet still the same 
The daily round of life went on ; 
The daily round of household care, 



162 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

155 The narrow life of toil and prayer. 
But in her heart the cobbler's dame 
Had now a treasure beyond price, 
A secret joy without a name, 
The certainty of Paradise. 

160 Alas, alas ! Dust unto dust ! 
Before the winter wore away, 
Her body in the churchyard lay. 
Her patient soul was with the Just ! 
After her death, among the things 

165 That even the poor preserve with care, — 
Some little trinkets and cheap rings, 
A locket with her mother's hair, 
Her wedding-gown, the faded flowers 
She wore upon her wedding-day, — 

170 Among these memories of past hours. 
That so much of the heart reveal, 
Carefully kept and put away, 
The Letter of Indulgence lay 
Folded, with signature and seal. 

175 Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained, 
Waited and wondered that no word 
Of mass or requiem he heard, 
As by the Holy Church ordained : 
Then to the Magistrate complained, 

180 That as this woman had been dead 
A week or more, and no mass said, 
It was rank heresy, or at least 
Contempt of Church ; thus said the Priest ; 
And straight the cobbler was arraigned. 

185 He came, confiding in his cause. 
But rather doubtful of the laws. 



THE COBBLER OF HAGENAU. 163 

The Justice from his elbow-chair 

Gave him a look that seemed to say : 
" Thou stand'st before a Magistrate, 
190 Therefore do not prevaricate ! " 

Then asked him in a business way, 

Kindly but cold : "Is thy wife dead ? " 

The cobbler meekly bowed his head ; 
" She is," came struggling from his throat 
195 Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote 

The words down in a book, and then 

Continued, as he raised his pen : 
" She is ; and hath a mass been said 

For the salvation of her soul ? 
200 Come, speak the truth ! confess the whole ! " 

The cobbler without pause replied : 
" Of mass or prayer there was no need ; 

For at the moment when she died 

Her soul was with the glorified ! " 
206 And from his pocket with all speed 

He drew the priestly title-deed. 

And prayed the Justice he would read. 

The Justice read, amused, amazed ; 

And as he read his mirth increased ; 
210 At times his shaggy brows he raised. 

Now wondering at the cobbler gazed, 

Now archly at the angry Priest. 
" From all excesses, sins, and crimes 

Thou hast committed in past times 
215 Thee I absolve ! And furthermore, 

Purified from all eartlily taints. 

To the communion of the Saints 

And to the sacraments restore ! 



164 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

All stains of weakness, and all trace 
220 Of shame and censure I efface ; 

Keinit the pains thou shouldst endure, 

And make thee innocent and pure, 

So that in dying, unto thee 

The gates of heaven shall open be ! 
225 Though long thou livest, yet this grace 

Until the moment of thy death 

Unchangeable continueth ! " 

Then said he to the Priest : "I find 

This document is duly signed 
230 Brother John Tetzel, his own hand. 

At all tribunals in the land 

In evidence it may be used ; 

Therefore acquitted is the accused." 

Then to the cobbler turned : " My friend, 
235 Pray tell me, didst thou ever read 

Reynard the Fox ? " — " Oh yes, indeed ! " 
" I thought so. Don't forget the end." 



INTERLUDE. 

" What was the end ? I am ashamed 
Not to remember Reynard's fate ; 
I have not read the book of late ; 
Was he not hanged ? " the Poet said. 

5 The Student gravely shook his head. 
And answered : " You exaggerate. 
There was a tournament proclaimed, 
And Reynard fought with Isegrim 
The Wolf, and having vanquished him. 



INTERLUDE. 165 

10 Rose to high honor in the State, 

And Keeper of the Seals was named ! " 

At this the gay Sicilian laughed : 
" Fight fire with fire, and craft with craft ; 
Successful cunning seems to be 
15 The moral of your tale," said he. - 
" Mine had a better, and the Jew's 
Had none at all, that I could see ; 
His aim was only to amuse." 

Meanwhile from out its ebon case 
20 His violin the Minstrel drew, 

And having tuned its strings anew, 

Now held it close in his embrace, 

And poising in his outstretched hand 

The bow, like a magician's wand, 
25 He paused, and said, with beaming face : 
" Last night my story was too long ; 

To-day I give you but a song. 

An old tradition of the North ; 

But first, to put you in the mood, 
30 I will a little while prelude. 

And from this instrument draw forth 

Something by way of overture." 

He played. At first the tones were pure 

And tender as a summer night, 
35 The full moon climbing to her height, 

The sob and ripple of the seas. 

The flapping of an idle sail ; 

And then by sudden and sharp degrees 

The multiplied, wild harmonies 
40 Freshened and burst into a gale ; 



166 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A tempest howling through the dark, 
A crash as of some shipwrecked bark, 
A loud and melancholy wail. 

Such was the prelude to the tale 
45 Told by the Minstrel ; and at times 
He paused amid its varying rhymes, 
And at each pause again broke in 
The music of his violin, 
With tones of sweetness or of fear, 
50 Movements of trouble or of calm, 
Creating their own atmosphere ; 
As sitting in a church we hear 
Between the verses of the psalm 
The organ playing soft and clear, 
55 Or thundering on the startled ear. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. 

THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 

This story is found in various forms. Wilhelm HaufF, in Ara- 
bian Days' Entertainments, tells it as The Story of the Spectral Ship, 
in the g-eneral collection The Caravan; and it is, in another form, 
the well-known story, The Flying Dutchman. 



At Stralsund, by the Baltic Sea, 

Within the sandy bar. 
At sunset of a summer's day. 
Ready for sea, at anchor lay 

The good ship Valdemar. 

The sunbeams danced upon the waves, 
And played along her side ; 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 167 

And through the cabin windows streamed 
In ripples of golden light, that seemed 
10 The ripple of the tide. 

There sat the captain with his friends, 

Old skippers brown and hale, 
Who smoked and grumbled o'er their grog, 
And talked of icebei'g and of fog, 
15 Of calm and storm and gale. 

And one was spinning a sailor's yarn 

About Klaboterman, 
The Kobold of the sea ; a spright 
Invisible to mortal sight, 
20 Who o'er the rigging ran. 

Sometimes he hammered in the hold, 

Sometimes upon the mast, 
Sometimes abeam, sometimes abaft, 
Or at the bows he sang and laughed, 
25 And made all tight and fast. 

He helped the sailors at their work. 

And toiled with jovial din ; 
He helped them hoist and reef the sails, 
He helped them stow the casks and bales, 
30 And heave the anchor in. 

But woe unto the lazy louts, 

The idlers of the crew ; 
Them to torment was his delight, 
And worry them by day and night, 
35 And pinch them black and blue. 



168 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And woe to him whose mortal eyes 

Klaboterman behold, 
It is a certain sign of death ! — 
The cabin-boy here held his breath, 
40 He felt his blood run cold. 

n. 

The jolly skipper paused awhile, 
And then again began. 
** There is a Spectre Ship," quoth he, 
" A ship of the Dead that sails the sea, 
45 And is called the Carmilhan. 

"A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew. 
In tempests she appears ; 

And before the gale, or against the gale. 

She sails without a rag of sail, 
50 Without a helmsman steers. 

" She haunts the Atlantic north and south, 
But mostly the mid-sea. 
Where three great rocks rise bleak and bare 
Like furnace chimneys in the air, 

65 And are called the Chimneys Three. 

" And ill betide the luckless ship 
That meets the Carmilhan ; 
Over her decks the seas will leap. 
She must go down into the deep, 
60 And perish mouse and man." 

The captain of the Valdemar 
Laughed loud with merry heart. 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILUAN 169 

" I should like to see this ship," said he ; 
" I should like to find these Chimneys Three 
65 That are marked down in the chart. 

" I have sailed right over the spot," he said, 
" With a good stiff breeze behind, 
When the sea was blue, and the sky was clear, — 
You can follow my course by these pinholes here, — 

70 And never a rock could find." 

And then he swore a dreadful oath, 

He swore by the Kingdoms Three, 
That, should he meet the Carmilhan, 
He would run her down, although he ran 
75 Right into Eternity ! 

All this, while passing to and fro, 

The cabin-boy had heard ; 
He lingered at the door to hear. 
And drank in all with greedy ear, 
80 And pondered every word. 

He was a simple country lad, 
But of a roving mind. 
" Oh, it must be like heaven," thought he, 
" Those far-off foreign lands to see, 
85 And fortune seek and find ! " 

But in the fo'castle, when he heard 

The mariners blaspheme. 
He thought of home, he thought of God, 
And his mother under the churchyard sod, 
*® And wished it were a dream. 



170 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

One friend on board that ship had he ; 

'Twas the Klaboterman, 
Who saw the Bible in his chest, 
And made a sign upon his breast, 
95 All evil things to ban. 

III. 

The cabin windows have grown blank 

As eyeballs of the dead ; 
No more the glancing sunbeams burn 
On the gilt letters of the stern, 
100 But on the figure-head ; 

On Valdemar Victorious, 

Who looketh with disdain 
To see his image in the tide 
Dismembered float from side to side, 
105 And reunite again. 

" It is the wind," those skippers said, 
" That swings the vessel so ; 
It is the wind ; it freshens fast, 
'T is time to say farewell at last, 
110 'T is time for us to go." 

They shook the captain by the hand, 

" Good luck ! good luck ! " they cried ; 
Each face was like the setting sun, 
As, broad and red, they one by one 
115 Went o'er the vessel's side. 

The sun went down, the full moon rose 
Serene o'er field and flood, 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 171 

And all the winding creeks and bays 
And broad sea-meadows seemed ablaze, 
120 The sky was red as blood. 

The southwest wind blew fresh and fair, 

As fair as wind could be ; 
Bound for Odessa, o'er the bar, 
With all sail set, the Valdemar 
125 Went proudly out to sea. 

The lovely moon climbs up the sky 

As one who walks in dreams ; 
A tower of marble in her light, 
A wall of black, a wall of white, 
130 The stately vessel seems. 

Low down upon the sandy coast 

The lights begin to burn ; 
And now, uplifted high in air. 
They kindle with a fiercer glare, 
135 And now drop far astern. 

The dawn appears, the land is gone, 

The sea is all around ; 
Then on each hand low hills of sand 
Emerge and form another land ; 
140 She steereth through the Sound. 

Through Kattegat and Skager-rack 

She flitteth like a ghost ; 
By day and night, by night and day, 
She bounds, she flies upon her way 
145 Along the English coast. 



172 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

Cape Finisterre is drawing near, 

Cai3e Finisterre is past ; 
Into the open ocean stream 
She floats, the vision of a dream 
150 Too beautiful to last. 

Suns rise and set, and rise, and yet 

There is no land in sight ; 
The liquid planets overhead 
Burn brighter now the moon is dead, 
165 And longer stays the night. 

IV. 

And now along the horizon's edge 

Mountains of cloud uprose, 
Black as with forests underneath. 
Above, their sharp and jagged teeth 
160 Were white as drifted snows. 

Unseen behind them sank the sun, 

But flushed each snowy peak 
A little while with rosy light. 
That faded slowly from the sight 
165 As blushes from the cheek. 

Black grew the sky, — all black, all black ; 

The clouds were everywhere ; 
There was a feeling of suspense 
In nature, a mysterious sense 
170 Of terror in the air. 

And all on board the Valdemar 
Was still as still could be ; 



THE BALLAD OF CARMILHAN. 173 

Save when the dismal ship-bell tolled, 
As ever and anon she rolled, 
175 And lurched into the sea. 

The captain up and down the deck 

Went striding to and fro ; 
Now watched the compass at the wheel, 
Now lifted up his hand to feel 
180 Which way the wind might blow. 

And now he looked up at the sails, 

And now upon the deep ; 
In every fibre of his frame 
He felt the storm before it came, 
185 He had no thought of sleep. 

Eight bells ! and suddenly abaft. 

With a great rush of rain, 
Making the ocean white with spume, 
In darkness like the day of doom, 
190 On came the hurricane. 

The lightning flashed from cloud to cloud, 

And rent the sky in two ; 
A jagged flame, a single jet 
Of white fire, like a bayonet, 
195 That pierced the eyeballs through. 

Then all around was dark again. 

And blacker than before ; 
But in that single flash of light 
He had beheld a fearful sight, 
200 And thouofht of the oath he swore. 



174 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

For right ahead lay the Ship of the Dead, 

The ghostly Carrailhan ! 
Her masts were stripped, her yards were bare, 
And on her bowsprit, poised in au% 
205 Sat the Klaboterman. 

Her crew of ghosts was all on deck 

Or clambering up the shrouds ; 
The boatswain's whistle, the captain's hail 
Were like the piping of the gale, 
210 And thunder in the clouds. 

And close behind the Carmilhan 

There rose up from the sea. 
As from a foundered ship of stone, 
Three bare and splintered masts alone : 
215 They were the Chimneys Three. 

And onward dashed the Valdemar 

And leaped into the dark ; 
A denser mist, a colder blast, 
A little shudder, and she had passed 
220 Right through the Phantom Bark. 

She cleft in twain the shadowy hulk, 

But cleft it unaware ; 
As when, careering to her nest. 
The sea-gull severs with her breast 
225 The unresisting air. 

Again the lightning flashed ; again 

They saw the Carmilhan, 
Whole as before in hull and spar ; 



235 



INTERLUDE. 175 

But now on board of the Valdemar 
Stood the Klaboterman. 

And they all knew their doom was sealed, 

They knew that death was near ; 
Some prayed who never prayed before, 
And some they wept, and some they swore, 

And some were mute with fear. 



Then suddenly there came a shock, 

And louder than wind or sea 
A cry burst from the crew on deck, 
As she dashed and crashed, a hopeless wreck, 
240 Upon the Chimneys Three. 

The storm and night were passed, the light 

To streak the east began ; 
The cabin-boy, picked up at sea, 
Survived the wreck, and only he, 
245 To tell of the Carmilhan. 



INTERLUDE. 

When the long murmur of applause 
That greeted the Musician's lay 
Had slowly buzzed itself away, 
And the long talk of Spectre Ships 

5 That followed died upon their lips 
And came unto a natural pause, 

" These tales you tell are one and all 
Of the Old World," the Poet said, 

" Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall. 



176 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

10 Dead leaves that rustle as they fall ; 
Let me present you in their stead 
Something of our New England earth, 
A tale, which, though of no great worth, 
Has still this merit, that it yields 

15 A certain freshness of the fields, 
A sweetness as of home-made bread." 

The Student answered : "Be discreet ; 
For if the flour be fresh and sound, 
And if the bread be light and sweet, 

20 Who careth in what mill 't was ground. 
Or of what oven felt the heat, 
Unless, as old Cervantes said. 
You are looking after better bread 
Than any that is made of wheat ? 

25 You know that people nowadays 
To what is old give little praise ; 
All must be new in prose and verse ; 
They want hot bread, or something worse. 
Fresh every morning, and half baked ; 

30 The wholesome bread of yesterday, 
Too stale for them, is thrown away. 
Nor is their thirst with water slaked." 

As oft we see the sky in May 
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain, 
35 The Poet's face, before so gay. 
Was clouded with a look of pain. 
But suddenly brightened up again ; 
And without further let or stay 
He told his tale of yesterday. 



LADY WENTWORTH. 177 

THE POET'S TALE. 

LADY WENTWORTH. 

The incidents of this tale are recounted by C. W. Brewster, 
{Rambles about Portsmouth, i. 101.) After the publication of the 
poem, Mr. Thomas Went worth Hig-g-inson wrote to one of Mr. 
Longfellow's kinsmen a version of the story sent him by Mrs. 
Mary Anne Williams, who had the story from her grandmother, 
who was niece to Governor Wentworth, and a child at the time of 
the incident. " I have seen Mr. Longfellow's poem," writes Mrs. 
Williams, ' ' but I should think he would be afraid some of the 
old fellows would appear to him for making it appear that any 
others than the family were present to witness what they considered 
a great degradation. Only the brothers and brothers-in-law were 
present, and Mr. Brown ; and the bride, who had been his house- 
keeper for seven years, was then thirty-five, and attired in a 
calico dress and white apron. The family stood in wholesome 
awe of the sturdy old governor, so treated Patty with civility, 
but it was hard work for the stately old dames, and she was 
dropped after his death." The wedding took place in 1730. 
The house at Little Harbor is still standing, though stripped of 
furniture and portraits which once made it a most interesting 
place to visit. 

Mr. Longfellow appears to have written this tale before he had 
visited the old house. He records in his diary, under date of 
May 24, 1871 : "Finished a new tale for the second day of the 
Wayside Inn, a New England story, — Lady Wentworth ;^^ and, 
a week later : " Went with Fields to Portsmouth to see old houses. 
Mr. Haven received us at the station, and entertained us most 
hospitably. First, lunch ; then drive to Little Harbor to see the 
Wentworth house, — a quaint, irregular pile of buildings, hidden 
from the road by rising ground, though close upon it, with lilac 
hedges, and looking seaward; not unlike my description of it." 
In a letter written at the same time to Mr. G. W. Greene, he says : 
' ' I had a most successful day with Fields at his native town, and 
saw sundry curious old houses, — among them the Wentworth 
house, which I was anxious to see, having already described it in 
a poem. I found it nec3S3ary to change only a single line, — 



178 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

which was lucky." The change which Mr. Longfellow was 
obliged to make is interesting, as showing his general familiarity 
with colonial houses, and the deviation from a common type which 
existed in the Wentworth house. Brewster, from whom Mr. 
LongfelloAV probably derived the points in his description, omits 
any mention of the staircase, but fails to show that, in the peculiar 
construction of the house, opportunity was lacking for such a 
feature. As soon, however, as Mr, Longfellow saw the interior, 
he perceived that he must omit his mention, wliich ran : — 

" A spacious staircase leading from the hall 
With twisted balusters unlike and small." 

In the best examples of old colonial houses, the small balusters are 
in groups of three different forms repeated in succession. 

One hundred years ago, and something more, 
In Queen Street, Portsmouth, at her tavern -door, 
Neat as a pin, and blooming as a rose, 
Stood Mistress Stavers in her furbelows, 
5 Just as her cuckoo clock was striking nine. 
Above her head, resplendent on the sign, 
The portrait of the Earl of Halifax, 
In scarlet coat and periwig of flax. 
Surveyed at leisure all her varied charms, 

10 Her cap, her bodice, her white folded arms. 
And half resolved, though he was past his prime, 
And rather damaged by the lapse of time, 
To fall down at her feet, and to declare 
The passion that had driven him to despair. 

15 For from his lofty station he had seen 

Stavers, her husband, dressed in bottle-green, 
Drive his new Flying Stage-coach, four in hand, 
Down the long lane, and out into the land, 
And knew that he was far upon the way 

20 To Ipswich and to Boston on the Bay ! 
Just then the meditations of the Earl 
Were interrupted by a little girl. 



LADY WENT WORTH. 179 

Barefooted, ragged, with neglected hair. 

Eyes full of laughter, neck and shoulders bare, 

25 A thin slij) of a girl, like a new moon, 
Sure to be rounded into beauty soon, 
A creature men would worship and adore, 
Though now in mean habiliments she bore 
A pail of water, dri^^ping through the street, 

30 And bathing, as she went, her naked feet. 

It was a pretty picture, full of grace, — 
The slender form, the delicate, thin face ; 
The swaying motion, as she hurried by ; 
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye, 

35 That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced, 
As in her pail the shifting sunbeam danced : 
And with uncommon feelings of delight 
The Earl of Halifax beheld the sight. 
Not so Dame Stavers, for he heard her say 

40 These words, or thought he did, as plain as day : 
" O Martha Hilton ! Fie ! how dare you go ■ 
About the town half dressed, and looking so ! " 
At which the gypsy laughed, and straight replied : 
'• No matter how I look ; I yet shall ride 

45 In my own chariot, ma'am." And on the child 
The Earl of Halifax benignly smiled, 
As with her heavy burden she passed on. 
Looked back, then turned the corner, and was 
gone. 

What next, upon that memorable day, 
60 Arrested his attention was a gay 

And brilliant equipage, that flashed and spun. 
The silver harness glittering in the sun. 



180 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 

Outriders with red jackets, lithe and lank, 
Pounding the saddles as they rose and sank, 

55 While all alone within the chariot sat 
A portly person with three-cornered hat, 
A crimson velvet coat, head high in air, 
Gold-headed cane, and nicely powdered hair, 
And diamond buckles sj^arkling at his knees, 

60 Dignified, stately, florid, much at ease. 
Onward the pageant swept, and as it j^assed. 
Fair Mistress Stavers courtesied low and fast ; 
For this was Governor Wentworth, driving down 
To Little Harbor, just beyond the town, 

65 AYhere his Great House stood looking out to sea, 
A goodly place, where it was good to be. 

It was a j)leasant mansion, an abode 

Near and yet hidden from the great high-road. 

Sequestered among trees, a noble pile, 

70 Baronial and colonial in its style ; 

Gables and dormer-windows everywhere, 
And stacks of chimneys rising high in air, — 
Pandsean pipes, on which all winds that blew 
Made mournful music the whole winter through. 

75 Within, unwonted splendors met the eye, 
Panels, and floors of oak, and tapestry ; 
Carved chimney-pieces, where on brazen dogs 
Revelled and roared the Christmas fires of logs ; 
Doors opening into darkness unawares, 

80 Mysterious passages, and flights of stairs ; 
And on the walls, in heavy gilded frames. 
The ancestral Wentworths with Old - Scriptur? 

names. 
Such was the mansion where the great man dwelt, 



LADY WENT WORTH. 181 

A widower and childless ; and he felt 
85 The loneliness, the uncongenial gloom, 
That like a presence haunted every room ; 
For though not given to weakness, he could feel 
The pain of wounds, that ache because they heal. 

The years came and the years went, — seven in all, 
90 And passed in cloud and sunshine o'er the Hall ; 

The dawns their splendor through its chambers 
shed, 

The sunsets flushed its western windows red ; 

The snow was on its roofs, the wind, the rain ; 

Its woodlands were in leaf and bare again ; 
95 Moons waxed and waned, the lilacs bloomed and 
died. 

In the broad river ebbed and flowed the tide. 

Ships went to sea, and ships came home from sea. 

And the slow years sailed by and ceased to be. 

And all these years had Martha Hilton served 
100 In the Great House, not wholly unobserved : 
By day, by night, the silver crescent grew, 
Though hidden by clouds, her light still shining 

through ; 
A maid of all work, whether coarse or fine, 
A servant who made service seem divine ! 
105 Through her each room was fair to look upon ; 
The mirrors glistened, and the brasses shone, 
The very knocker on the outer door. 
If she but passed, was brighter than before. 

And now the ceaseless tinning of the mill 
110 Of time, that never for an hour stands still. 



182 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Ground out the Governor's sixtieth birthday, 
And powdered his brown hair with silver-gray. 
The robin, the forerunner of the spring, 
The bluebird with his jocund carolling, 

115 The restless swallows building in the eaves, 
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves, 
The lilacs tossing in the wdnds of May, 
All welcomed this majestic holiday ! 
He gave a splendid banquet, served on plate, 

120 Sach as became the Governor of the State, 
Who represented England and the King, 
And was magnificent in everything. 
He had invited all his friends and peers, — 
The Pepperels, the Langdons, and the Lears, 

125 The Sparhawks, the Penhallows. and the rest ; 
For why repeat the name of every guest ? 
But I must mention one in bands and gown, 
The rector there, the Reverend Arthur Brown 
Of the Estabhshed Church ; with smiling face 

130 He sat beside the Governor and said grace ; 
And then the feast went on, as others do, 
But ended as none other I e'er knew. 

When they had drunk the King, with many a 
cheer, 

The Governor whispered in a servant's ear, 
135 Who disappeared, and presently there stood 

Within the room, in perfect womanhood, 

A maiden, modest and yet self-possessed. 

Youthful and beautiful, and simply dressed. 

Can this be Martha Hilton ? It must be ! 
140 Yes, Martha Hilton, and no other she ! 

Dowered with the beauty of her twenty years, 



INTERLUDE. 183 

How ladylike, how queenlike she appears ; 
The pale, thin crescent of the days gone by 
Is Dian now in all her majesty ! 

145 Yet scarce a guest perceived that she was there. 
Until the Governor, rising from his chair. 
Played slightly with his ruffles, then looked down, 
And said unto the Reverend Arthur Brown : 
" This is my birthday : it shall likewise be 

150 My wedding-day ; and you shall marry me ! " 

The listening guests were greatly mystified. 

None more so than the rector, who replied : 
" Marry you ? Yes, that were a jDleasant task, 

Your Excellency ; but to whom ? I ask." 
155 The Governor answered, " To this lady here ; " 

And beckoned Martha Hilton to draw near. 

She came and stood, all blushes, at his side. 

The rector paused. The impatient Governor cried: 
" This is the lady ; do you hesitate ? 
160 Then I command you as Chief Magistrate." 

The rector read the service loud and clear : 
" Dearly beloved, we are gathered here," 

And so on to the end. At his command 

On the fourth finger of her fair left hand 
165 The Governor placed the ring ; and that was all : 

Martha was Lady Wentworth of the Hall ! 



INTERLUDE. 

Well pleased the audience heard the tale. 
The Theologian said : " Indeed, 

149. Governor Benning Wentworth was born July 24, 1696. 



184 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

To praise you there is little need ; 
One almost hears the farmer's flail 

5 Thresh out your wheat, nor does there fail 
A certain freshness, as you said. 
And sweetness as of home-made bread. 
But not less sweet and not less fresh 
Are many legends that I know, 

10 Writ by the monks of long-ago, 
Who loved to mortify the flesh, 
So that the soul might purer grow, 
And rise to a diviner state ; 
And one of these — perhaps of all 

15 Most beautiful — I now recall, 
And with permission will narrate ; 
Hoping thereby to make amends 
For that grim tragedy of mine, 
As strong and black as Spanish wine, 

20 I told last night, and wish almost 
It had remained untold, my friends ; 
For Torquemada's awful ghost 
Came to me in the dreams I dreamed. 
And in the darkness glared and gleamed 

25 Like a great light-house on the coast." 

The Student laugjlnng: said : " Far more 
Like to some dismal fire of bale 
Flaring portentous on a hill ; 
Or torches lighted on a shore 
20 By wreckers in a midnight gale. 
No matter ; be it as you will. 
Only go forward with your tale." 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 185 

THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 

" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone, 

Kneeling on the floor of stone, 
5 Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 

For his sins of indecision. 

Prayed for greater self-denial 

In temptation and in trial ; 

It was noonday by the dial, 
10 And the Monk was all alone. 

Suddenly, as if it lightened, 
An unwonted splendor brightened 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
15 And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about Him, 
Like a garment round Him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain, 
20 Not in agonies of pain, 

Not with bleeding hands and feet, 

Did the Monk his Master see ; 

But as in the village street, 

In the house or harvest-field, 
25 Halt and lame and blind He healed. 

When He walked in Galilee. 



186 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

In an attitude imploring, 
Hands ui^on his bosom crossed, 
Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 

30 Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest, 
Who am I, that thus Thou deignest 
To reveal Thyself to me ? 
Who am I, that from the centre 

35 Of Thy glory Thou shouldst enter 
This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation, 

Loud the convent bell appalling. 

From its belfry calling, calling, 
40 Rang through court and corridor 

With persistent iteration 

He had never heard before. 

It was now the appointed hour 

When alike in shine or shower, 
45 Winter's cold or summer's heat, 

To the convent portals came 

All the blind and halt and lame, 

All the beggars of the street. 

For their daily dole of food 
60 Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 

And their almoner was he 

Who upon his bended knee, 

Rapt in silent ecstasy 

Of divinest self-surrender, 
55 Saw the Vision and the Splendor. 

Deep distress and hesitation 

Mingled with his adoration ; 

Should he go or should he stay ? 



THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL. 187 

Should he leave the poor to wait 
60 Hungry at the convent gate, 

Till the Vision passed away ? 

Should he slight his radiant guest, 

Slight this visitant celestial, 

For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
65 Beggars at the convent gate ? 

Would the Vision there remain ? 

Would the Vision come again ? 

Then a voice within his breast 

Whispered, audible and clear 
70 As if to the outward ear : 
" Do thy duty ; that is best ; 

Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " 

Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
75 On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed, 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 

Looking through the iron grating, 
80 With that terror in the eye 

That is only seen in those 

Who amid their wants and woes 

Hear the sound of doors that close. 

And of feet that pass them by ; 
85 Grown familiar with disfavor. 

Grown familiar with the savor 

Of the bread by which men die ! 

But to-day, they knew not why, 

Like the gate of Paradise 



188 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

90 Seemed the convent gate to rise, 

Like a sacrament divine 

Seemed to them the bread and wine. 

In his heart the Monk was praying, 

Thinking of the homeless poor, 
95 What they suffer and endure ; 

What we see not, what we see ; 

And the inward voice was saying : 
*' Whatsoever thing thou doest 

To the least of mine and lowest, 
100 That thou doest unto me ! " 

Unto me ! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring, 
Would he then have knelt adoring, 
105 Or have listened with derision. 

And have turned away with loathing ? 

Thus his conscience put the question, 
Full of troublesome suggestion, 
As at length, with hurried pace, 
no Towards his cell he turned his face. 
And beheld the convent bright 
With a supernatural light, 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

115 But he paused with awe-struck feeling 
At the threshold of his door, 
For the Vision still was standing 
As he left it there before, 
When the convent bell appalling. 



INTERLUDE. 189 

120 From its belfry calling, calling, 

Summoned him to feed the poor. 

Through the long hour intervening 

It had waited his return, 

And he felt his bosom burn, 
126 Comprehending all the meaning. 

When the Blessed Vision said, 
" Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled ! " 

INTERLUDE. 

All praised the Legend more or less ; 

Some liked the moral, some the verse ; 

Some thought it better, and some worse 

Than other legends of the past ; 
6 Until, with ill-concealed distress 

At all their cavilling, at last 

The Theologian gravely said : 
" The Spanish proverb, then, is right : 

Consult your friends on what you do, 
10 And one will say that it is white, 

And others say that it is red." 

And " Amen ! " quoth the Spanish Jew. 

" Six stories told ! We must have seven, 

A cluster like the Pleiades, 
IB And lo ! it liai:>pens, as with these, 

That one is missing from our heaven. 

Where is the Landlord ? Bring him here ; 

Let the Lost Pleiad reappear." 

Thus the Sicilian cried, and went 
20 Forthwith to seek his missing star. 

But did not find him in the bar, 



190 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

A place that landlords most frequent, 
Nor yet beside the kitchen fire, 
Nor up the stairs, nor in the hall ; 
25 It was in vain to ask or call. 

There were no tidings of the Squire. 

So he came back with downcast head, 

Exclaiming : ' ' Well, our bashful host 

Hath surely given up the ghost. 
so Another proverb says the dead 

Can tell no tales ; and that is true. 

It follows, then, that one of you 

Must tell a story in his stead. 

You must," he to the Student said, 
" Who know so many of the best, 
36 And tell them better than the rest." 

Straight, by these flattering words beguiled, 
The Student, happy as a child 
When he is called a little man, 
40 Assumed the double task imposed, 
And without more ado unclosed 
His smiling lips, and thus began. 



THE STUDENT'S SECOND TALE. 

THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 

"About the time the treaty of Breda was ratified, A. D. 1667, 
Mons. Vincent de St. Castine appeared among the Tarratines, and 
settled upon the peninsula since called by his name. Born at 
Ol^ron, a province of France, he acquired an early taste for rural 
scenes, so fully enjoyed by him in the borders of the Pyrenean 
Mountains, which encompassed the place of his nativity. . . . He 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 191 

was a liberal Catholic, though devout and punctilious in his reli- 
gious observances ; having- usually in his train saveral Jesuit mis- 
sionaries devoted to the 'holy cause.' He learned to speak with 
ease the Indian dialect ; and supplying himself with firearms, 
ammunition, blankets, steel traps, baubles, and a thousand other 
things desired by the natives, he made them presents, and opened a 
valuable trade with them in these articles, for which he received 
furs and peltry in return, at his own prices. He targht the men 
the use of the gun, and some arts of war ; and being a man of fas- 
cinating address and manners, he attained a complete ascendancy 
over the Avhole tribe ; they looking upon him, in iho language of 
one writer, ' as their tutelar god. ' 

'' To chain their attachments by ties not readily broken, in con- 
nection with personal gratification, he took four or five Tarratine 
wives, — one of them the daughter of Madoeawando, Sagamore 
of the tribe. He lived with them all, by changes, at the same time, 
and had ' several daughters and one son, Castine the younger, 
who was a man of distinction and of excellent character. ' Early 
habits and great success in trade rendered the father con- 
tented with his allotments ; he lived in the country about thirty 
years ; and, as Abb(5 Raynal says, ' conformed himself in all re- 
spects to the manners and customs of the natives.' To his daugh- 
ters, whom ' he married very handsomely to Frenchmen, ' he gave 
liberal portions ; having amassed a property ' v/orth three hun- 
dred thousand crowns.'" — Williamson, The History of Maine, 
i. 471, 472. 

The Abb^ Raynal, who is one of Williamson's authorities, 
asserts that Castine never changed his wife, to convince the sav- 
ages " that God doth not like inconstant folks." Some remains of 
the fortifications of the Baron's trading-post may stUl be seen on 
the shore in the town of Castine. Baron Castine returned to 
France in 1701, but the scenes after his return appear to have 
their origin in the poet's imagination. Whittier has a reference 
to the Baron in his Mogg Megone. 

Barox Castixe of St. Castine 
Has left his chateau in the Pyrenees, 
And sailed across the western seas. 
When he went away from his fair demesne 



192 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

5 The birds were building, the woods were green ; 
And now the winds of winter blow 
Round the turrets of the old chateau, 
The birds are silent and unseen, 
The leaves lie dead in the ravine, 
10 And the Pyrenees are white with snow. 

His father, lonely, old, and gray, 

Sits by the fireside day by day, 

Thinking ever one thought of care ; 

Through the southern windows, narrow and tall, 
15 The sun shines into the ancient hall, 

And makes a glory round his hair. 

The house-dog, stretched beneath his chair. 

Groans in his sleep, as if in pain, 

Then wakes, and yawns, and sleeps again, 
20 So silent is it everywhere, — 

So silent you can hear the mouse 

Run and rummage along the beams 

Behind the wainscot of the wall ; 

And the old man rouses from his dreams, 
25 And wanders restless through the house. 

As if he heard strange voices call. 

His footsteps echo along the floor 

Of a distant passage, and pause awhile ; 

He is standing by an open door 
30 Looking long, with a sad, sweet smile, 

Into the room of his absent son. 

There is the bed on which he lay, 

There are the pictures bright and gay, 

Horses and hounds and sun-lit seas ; 
35 There are his powder-flask and gun, 

And his hunting-knives in shape of a fan ; 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 193 

The chair by the window where he sat, 
With the clouded tiger-skin for a mat, 
Looking out on the Pyrenees, 
40 Looking out on Mount Marbor^ 
And the Seven Valleys of Lavedan. 
Ah me ! he turns away and sighs ; 
There is a mist before his eyes. 

At night, whatever the weather be, 

46 Wind or rain or starry heaven, 
Just as the clock is striking seven, 
Those who look from the windows see 
The village Curate, with lantern and maid. 
Come through the gateway from tbe park 

60 And cross the courtyard damp and dark, — 
A ring of light in a ring of shade. 

And now at the old man's side he stands, 
His voice is cheery, his heart expands. 
He gossips pleasantly, by the blaze 
66 Of the fire of fagots, about old days. 
And Cardinal Mazarin and the Fronde, 
And the Cardinal's nieces fair and fond, 
And what they did, and what they said, 
When they heard his Eminence was dead. 

60 And after a pause the old man says, 

His mind still coming; back aofain 

To the one sad thought that haunts his brain, 
" Are there any tidings from over sea ? 

Ah, why has that wild boy gone from me ? " 
66 And the Curate answers, looking down. 

Harmless and docile as a lamb. 



194 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

" Young blood ! young blood ! It must so be ! " 
And draws from the pocket of his gown 
A handkerchief Kke an oriflamb, 

70 And wipes his spectacles, and they play 
Their little game of lansquenet 
In silence for an hour or so, 
Till the clock at nine strikes loud and clear 
From the village lying asleep below, 

75 And across the courtyard, into the dark 
Of the winding pathway in the park, 
Curate and lantern disappear. 
And darkness reigns in the old chateau. 

The ship has come back from over sea, 

60 She has been signalled from below, 
And into the harbor of Bordeaux 
She sails with her gallant company. 
But among tlum is nowhere seen 
The brave young Baron of St. Castine; 

85 He hath tarried behind, I ween. 
In the beautiful land of Acadie ! 

And the father paces to and fro 
Through the chambers of the old chateau, 
Waiting, waiting to hear the hum 

90 Of wheels on the road that runs below. 
Of servants hurrying here and there, 
The voice in the courtyard, the steji on the stair, 
Waiting for some one who doth net come ! 
But letters there are, which the old man reads 

95 To the Curate, when he comes at night, 
Word by word, as an acolyte 
Repeats his prayers and tells his beads ; 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 195 

Letters full of the rolling sea, 

Full of a young man's joy to be 
100 Abroad in the world, alone and free ; 

Full of adventures and wonderful scenes 

Of huntino: the deer throug-h forests vast 

In the royal grant of Pierre du Gast ; 

Of nights in the tents of the Tarratines ; 
105 Of Madocawando the Indian chief, 

And his daughters, glorious as queens, 

And beautiful beyond belief ; 

And so soft the tones of their native tongue, 

The words are not spoken, they are sung ! 

110 And the Curate listens, and smiling says : 
" Ah yes, dear friend ! in our young days 
We should have liked to hunt the deer 
All day amid those forest scenes, 
And to sleep in the tents of the Tarratines ; 

115 But now it is better sitting here 

Within four walls, and without the fear 

Of losing our hearts to Indian queens ; 

For man is fire and woman is tow. 

And the Somebody comes and begins to blow." 

120 Then a gleam of distrust and vague surmise 

Shines in the father's gentle eyes, 

As firelight on a window-pane 

Glimmers and vanishes again ; 

But naught he answers ; he only sighs, 
125 And for a moment bows his head ; 

Then, as their custom is, they play 

Their little game of lansquenet, 

And another day is with the dead. 



196 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Another day, and many a day 
130 And many a week and month depart, 
When a fatal letter wings its way 
Across the sea, like a bird of prey, 
And strikes and tears the old man's heart. 
Lo ! the yomig Baron of St. Castine, 
135 Swift as the ^vind is, and as wild. 
Has married a dusky Tarratine, 
Has married Madocawando's child ! 

The letter drops from the father's hand ; 
Though the sinews of his heart are wrung, 

140 He utters no cry, he breathes no prayer. 
No malediction falls from his tongue ; 
But his stately figure, erect and grand. 
Bends and sinks like a column of sand 
In the whirlwind of his great despair. 

145 Dying, yes, dying ! His latest breath 
Of parley at the door of death 
Is a blessing on his wayward son. 
Lower and lower on his breast 
Sinks his gray head ; he is at rest ; 

150 No longer he waits for any one. 

For many a year the old chateau 
Lies tenantless and desolate ; 
Rank grasses in the courtyard grow, 
About its gables caws the crow ; 
155 Only the porter at the gate 
Is left to guard it, and to wait 
The coming of the rightful heir ; 
No other life or sound is there ; 
No more the Curate comes at night, 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 197 

160 No more is seen the unsteady light, 
Threading the alleys of the park ; 
The windows of the hall are dark, 
The chambers dreary, cold, and bare ! 

At length, at last, when the winter is past, 
165 And birds are building, and woods are green, 

With flying skirts is the Curate seen 

Speeding along the woodland way, 

Humming gayly, " No day is so long 

But it comes at last to vesper-song." 
170 He stops at the porter's lodge to say 

That at last the Baron of St. Castine 

Is coming home with his Indian queen. 

Is coming without a week's delay ; 

And all the house must be swept and clean, 
175 And all things set in good array ! 

And the solemn porter shakes his head ; 

And the answer he makes is : " Lackaday ! 

We will see, as the blind man said ! " 

Alert since first the day began, 
180 The cock upon the village church 

Looks northward from his airy perch. 

As if beyond the ken of man 

To see the ships come sailing on, 

And pass the Isle of Oleron, 
185 And pass the Tower of Cordouan. 

In the church below is cold in clay 

The heart that would have leaped for joy — 

O tender heart of truth and trust ! — 

To see the coming of that day ; 



198 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

190 In the church below the Hps are dust ; 
Dust are the hands, and dust the feet 
That would have been so swift to meet 
The coming of that wayward boy. 

At night the front of the old chateau 
195 Is a blaze of light above and below ; 

There 's a sound of wheels and hoofs in the street, 

A cracking of whips, and scamper of feet. 

Bells are ringing, and horns are blown, 

And the Baron hath come again to his own. 
200 The Curate is waiting in the hall, 

Most eager and alive of all 

To welcome the Baron and Baroness ; 

But his mind is full of vague distress. 

For he hath read in Jesuit books 
205 Of those children of the wilderness. 

And now, good, simple man ! he looks 

To see a painted savage stride 

Into the room, with shoulders bare, 

And eagle feathers in her hair, 
210 And around her a robe of panther's hide. 

Instead, he beholds with secret shame 

A form of beauty undefined, 

A loveliness without a name, 

Not of degree, but more of kind ; 
215 Nor bold nor shy, nor short nor tall, 

But a new mingling of them all. 

Yes, beautiful beyond belief. 

Transfigured and transfused, he sees 

The lady of the Pyrenees, 
220 The dau2:hter of the Indian chief. 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 199 

Beneath the shadow of her hair 

The gold-hronze color of the skin 

Seems lighted by a fire within, 

As when a burst of sunlight shines 
225 Beneath a sombre growth of pines, — 

A dusky splendor in the air. 

The two small hands, that now are pressed 

In his, seem made to be caressed. 

They lie so warm and soft and still, 
230 Like birds half hidden in a nest, 

Trustful, and innocent of ill. 

And ah ! he cannot believe his ears 

Wlien her melodious voice he hears 

Speaking his native Gascon tongue ; 
235 The words she utters seem to be 

Part of some poem of Goudouli, 

They are not spoken, they are sung ! 

And the Baron smiles, and says, " You see 

I told you but the simple truth ; 
240 Ah, you may trust the eyes of youth ! " 

Down in the village day by day 
The people gossip in their way. 
And stare to see the Baroness pass 
On Sunday morning to early Mass ; 
245 And when she kneeleth down to pray, 

They wonder, and whisper together, and say 
" Surely this is no heathen lass ! " 
And in course of time they learn to bless 
The Baron and the Baroness. 

260 And in course of time the Curate learns 
A secret so dreadful, that by turns 



200 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

He is ice and fire, he freezes and burns. 
The Baron at confession hath said, 
That though this woman be his wife, 
255 He hath wed her as the Indians wed, 

He hath bought her for a gun and a knife ! 
And the Curate replies : " O profligate, 
O Prodigal Son ! return once more 
To the open arms and the open door 

260 Of the Church, or ever it be too late. 
Thank God, thy father did not live 
To see what he could not forgive ; 
On thee, so reckless and perverse, 
He left his blessing, not his curse. 

265 But the nearer the dawn the darker the night, 
And by going wrong all things come right ; 
Things have been mended that were worse, 
And the worse, the nearer they are to mend. 
For the sake of the living and the dead, 

270 Thou shalt be wed as Christians wed. 
And all things come to a happy end." 

O sun, that foUowest the night, 
In yon blue sky, serene and pure. 
And pourest thine impartial light 

275 Alike on mountain and on moor. 
Pause for a moment in thy course, 
And bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 
O Gave, that from thy hidden source 
In yon mysterious mountain-side 

280 Pursuest thy wandering way alone. 
And leaping down its steps of stone, 
Along the meadow-lands demure 
Stealest away to the Adour, 



THE BARON OF ST. CASTINE. 201 

Pause for a moment in thy course 
285 To bless the bridegroom and the bride ! 

The choir is singing the matin song, 
The doors of the church are opened wide, 
The people crowd, and press, and throng 
To see the bridegroom and the bride. 

2D0 They enter and pass along the nave ; 
They stand upon the father's grave ; 
The bells are ringing soft and slow ; 
The living above and the dead below 
Give their blessing on one and twain ; 

295 The warm wind blows from the hills of Spain, 
The birds are building, the leaves are green, 
And Baron Castine of St. Castine 
Hath come at last to his own again. 



FINALE. 

" Nunc plaudite ! " the Student cried. 
When he had finished ; " now applaud, 
As Roman actors used to say 
At the conclusion of a play ; " 

8 And rose, and spread his hands abroad, 
And smiling bowed from side to side. 
As one who bears the palm away. 

And generous was the applause and loud, 
But less for him than for the sun, 
10 That even as the tale was done 
Burst from its canopy of cloud. 
And lit the landscape with the blaze 



202 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Of afternoon on autumn days, 
And filled the room with light, and made 
15 The fire of logs a painted shade. 

A sudden wind from out the west 
Blew all its trumpets loud and shrill ; 
The windows rattled with the blast, 
The oak-trees shouted as it passed, 

20 And straight, as if by fear possessed, 
The cloud encampment on the hill 
Broke up, and fluttering flag and tent 
Vanished into the firmament. 
And down the valley fled amain 

25 The rear of the retreating rain. 

Only far up in the blue sky 
A mass of clouds, like drifted snow 
Suffused with a faint Alpine glow. 
Was heaped together, vast and high, 

30 On which a shattered rainbow hung, 
Not rising like the ruined arch 
Of some aerial aqueduct. 
But like a roseate garland plucked 
From an Olympian god, and flung 

35 Aside in his triumphal march. 

Like prisoners from their dungeon gloom, 
Like birds escaping from a snare. 
Like school-boys at the hour of play, 
All left at once the pent-up room, 
40 And rushed into the ojDen air ; 

And no more tales were told that day. 



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TALES OF A WAYSIDE 

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H. W. LONGFELLOW 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
AND NOTES 

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%^t HtersiDe ^Literature ^erie0 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



HENKY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 



IN THREE NUMBERS 
III. 




HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 



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Copyright, 1873, 
By henry WADSWORTII LONGFELLOW. 

Copyright, 1888, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 

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The Riverside Press, Camhrirfge : 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Part Third. Prelude 208 

The Spanish Jew's Tale : Azrael .... 207 

Interlude 208 

The Poet's Tale : Charlemagne 210 

Interlude 212 

The Student's Tale : Emma and Eginhard . . 214 

Interlude 221 

The Theologian's Tale: Elizabeth .... 224 

Interlude 239 

The Sicilian's Tale : The Monk of Casal-Maggiore 241 

Interlude 252 

The Spanish Jew's Second Tale : Scanderbeg . . 253 

Interlude 258 

The Musician's Tale: The Mother's Ghost . . 261 

Interlude 265 

The Landlord's Tale : The Rhyme of Sir Christopher 267 

Finale 272 



^ 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



PART THIRD. 
PRELUDE. 



The evening came. The golden vane 
A moment in the sunset glanced, 
Then darkened, and then gleamed again, 
As from the east the moon advanced 
5 And touched it with a softer light ; 
While underneath, with flowing mane, 
Upon the sign the Red Horse pranced, 
And galloped forth into the night. 

But brighter than the afternoon 
10 That followed the dark day of rain. 
And brighter than the golden vane 
That glistened in the rising moon, 
Within, the ruddy firelight gleamed ; 
And every separate window-pane, 
15 Backed by the outer darkness, showed 
A mirror, where the flamelets gleamed 
And flickered to and fro, and seemed 
A bonfire lighted in the road. 

Amid the hospitable glow, 
20 Like an old actor on the stage, 
With the uncertain voice of age, 



204 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The singing chimney chanted low 
The homely songs of long ago. 

The voice that Ossian heard of yore, 
26 When midnight winds were in his hall ; 

A ghostly and appealing call, 

A sound of days that are no more ! 

And dark as Ossian sat the Jew, 

And listened to the sound, and knew 
30 The passing of the airy hosts, 

The gray and misty cloud of ghosts 

In their interminable flight ; 

And listening muttered in his beard, 

With accent indistinct and weird, 
35 " Who are ye, children of the Night ? " 

Beholding his mysterious face, 
*' Tell me," the gay Sicilian said, 
" Why was it that in breaking bread 

At supper, you bent down your head 
40 And, musing, paused a little space, 

As one who says a silent grace ? " 

The Jew replied, with solemn air : 
" I said the Manichaean's prayer. 

It was his faith — perhaps is mine — 
45 That life in all its forms is one, 

24. A Scotchman, James McPherson, published in 1760 the Poems of Ossian, 
which he pretended were translations from Erse manuscripts. They were 
really written by McPherson and based on traditions which were rather Irish 
than Scotch. Ossian was supposed to be the son of Fingal, a Scottish warrior- 
bard, who lived in the third century. 

43. The Manichseans or Manichees were a religious sect founded by a Per- 
sian from whose name they took their own. He gave himself out to be an 
apostle of the Lord, and the promised Comforter, 



PRELUDE. 205 

And that its secret conduits run 

Unseen, but in unbroken line, 

From the great fountain-head divine 

Through man and beast, through grain and grass. 
BO Howe'er we struggle, strive, and cry, 

From death there can be no escape, 

And no escape from life, alas ! 

Because we cannot die, but pass 

From one into another shape ; 
BB It is but into life we die. 

" Therefore the Manichgean said 

This simple prayer on breaking bread, 

Lest he with hasty hand or knife 

Might wound the incarcerated life, 
60 The soul in things that we caU dead : 
* I did not reap thee, did not bind thee, 

I did not thrash thee, did not grind thee, 

Nor did I in the oven bake thee ! 

It was not I, it was another 
68 Did these things unto thee, O brother ; 

I only have thee, hold thee, break thee ! ' " 

" That birds have souls I can concede," 
The Poet cried, with glowing cheeks ; 

" The flocks that from their beds of reed 
70 Uprising north or southward fly, 
And flying write upon the sky 
The biforked letter of the Greeks, 

72. In a poem called Le Alpi, by Giovaimi Rucellai, an Italian poet (1475- 
1525), are these lines, numbered 942-944 : — 

" Luando le Grue, tornando alle fredde alpi 
Scrivon per I'aere liquido e tranquillo 
La biforcata lettera dei Greci," 
Which may be rendered : — 



206 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

As hath been said by Rucellai ; 
All birds that sing or chirp or cry, 

75 Even those migratory bands, 
The minor poets of the air. 
The plover, peep, and sanderling, 
That hardly can be said to sing, 
But pipe along the barren sands, — 

80 All these have souls akin to ours ; 
So hath the lovely race of flowers : 
Thus much I grant, but nothing more. 
The rusty hinges of a door 
Are not alive because they creak ; 

85 This chimney, with its dreary roar, 
These rattling windows, do not speak ! " 

" To me they speak," the Jew replied ; 

*' And in the sounds that sink and soar 
I hear the voices of a tide 

90 That breaks upon an unknown shore ! " 

Here the Sicilian interfered : 
"That was your dream, then, as you dozed 
A moment since, with eyes half-closed, 
And murmured something in your beard." 
95 The Hebrew smiled, and answered, " Nay ; 
Not that, but something very near ; 
Like, and yet not the same, may seem 
The vision of my waking dream ; 
Before it wholly dies away, 
100 Listen to me, and you shall hear." 

When the cranes, returning, fly 

To the Mgid Alpine peaks, 
They trace on calm, translucent sky 

The biforked letter of the Greeks. 
The biforked letter of the Greeks is Y. 



AZRAEL. 207 

THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

AZRAEL. 

King Solomon, before his palace gate 

At evening, on the pavement tessellate 

Was walking with a stranger from the East, 

Arrayed in rich attire as for a feast, 
^ The mighty Runjeet-Sing, a learned man, 

And Rajah of the realms of Hindostan. 

And as they walked, the guest became aware 

Of a white figure in the twilight air, 

Gazing intent, as one who with surprise 
10 His form and features seemed to recognize ; 

And in a whisper to the king he said : 
" What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, 

Is watching me, as if he sought to trace 

In the dim light the features of my face ? " 

15 The king looked, and replied : " I know him well ; 
It is the Angel men call Azrael, 
'T is the Death Angel ; what hast thou to fear ? " 
And the guest answered : *' Lest he should come near. 
And speak to me, and take away my breath ! 

20 Save me from Azrael, save me from death ! 
O king, that hast dominion o'er the wind, 
Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind." 

The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky, 
Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high, 
25 And lo ! the signet-ring of chrysoprase 
On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze 



;^^ 



208 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

With hidden fire, and rushing from the west 
There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest 
And lifted him from earth, and on they passed, 

30 His shining garments streaming in the blast, 
A silken banner o'er the walls upreared, 
A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared. 
Then said the Angel, smiling : " If this man 
Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan, 

35 Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer ; 
I was upon my way to seek him there." 



INTERLUDE. 

" O Edrehi, forbear to-night 

Your ghostly legends of aif right, 

And let the Talmud rest in peace ; 

Spare us your dismal tales of death 
5 That almost take away one's breath ; 

So doing, may your tribe increase." 

Thus the Sicilian said ; then went 

And on the spinet's rattling keys 

Played Marianina, like a breeze 
10 From Naples and the Southern seas, 

That brings us the delicious scent 

Of citron and of orange trees, 

And memories of soft days of ease 
14 At Capri and Amalfi spent. 

" Not so," the eager Poet said ; 
" At least, not so before I tell 

6. A familiar saying among the Arabs. It occurs in the first line of Leigh 
Hunt's Abou Ben Adhem. 



INTERLUDE. 209 

The story of my AzrCiel, 

Av. ang4 mortal as ourselves, 

Which in an ancient tome I found 
20 Upon a convent's dusty shelves, 

Chained with an iron chain, and bound 

In parchment, and with clasps of brass, 

Lest from its prison, some dark day, 

It might be stolen or steal away, 
25 While the good friars were singing mass. 

" It is a tale of Charlemagne, 
When like a thunder-cloud, that lowers 
And sweeps from mountain-crest to coast, 
With lightning flaming through its showers, 
30 He swept across the Lombard plain, 
Beleaguering with his warlike train 
Pavia, the country's pride and boast, 
The City of the Hundred Towers." 

Thus heralded the tale began, 
35 And thus in sober measure ran. 

33, An epithet bestowed on Pavia because of its many towers. A few of 
these remain, the highest being a little short of two hundred feet. 



210 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

THE POET'S TALE.., 

CHARLEMAGNE. 

In his diary, under date of May 12, 1872, Mr. Longfellow 
writes : ' ' Wrote a short poem on Charlemagne from a story in an 
old chronicle, De Factis Caroli Magni, quoted by Cantii, Storia 
degli Italiani, II. 122. I first heard it from Charles Perkins, in 
one of his lectures." 

Olger the Dane and Desiderio, 
King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower 
Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, 
League after league of harvests, to the foot 
5 Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach 
A mighty army, thronging all the roads 
That led into the city. And the King 
Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth 
As hostage at the court of France, and knew 
10 The Emperor's form and face : " Is Charlemagne 
Among that host ? " And Olger answered : " No." 

And still the innumerable multitude 

Flowed onward and increased, until the King 

Cried in amazement : " Surely Charlemagne 

15 Is coming in the midst of all these knights ! " 
And Olger answered slowly : " No ; not yet ; 
He will not come so soon." Then much disturbed 
King Desiderio asked : " What shall we do. 
If he approach with a still greater army ? " 

20 And Olger answered : " When he shall appear, 

1. Hans Christian Andersen has an effective little tale about Olger, Holger 
DansTce. The myth grew up about Olger, as about Frederick Barbarossa and 
others, that the warrior did not die, but slumbered, ready to awake when his 
country was in peril. 



CHARLEMA GNE. 211 

You will behold what manner of man he is ; 
But what will then befall us I know not." 

Then came the guard that never knew repose, 
The Paladins of France ; and at the sight 
25 The Lombard King o'ercome with terror cried : 
"• This must be Charlemagne ! " and as before 
Did Olger answer: " No ; not yet, not yet." 

And then appeared in panoply complete 
The Bishops and the Abbots and the Priests 

30 Of the imj)erial chapel, and the Counts ; 
And Desiderio could no more endure 
The light of day, nor yet encounter death, 
But sobbed aloud and said : " Let us go down 
And hide us in the bosom of the earth, 

35 Far from the sight and anger of a foe 
So terrible as this ! " And Olger said : 
" When you behold the harvests in the fields 
Shaking with fear, the Po and the Ticino 
Lashing the city walls with iron waves, 

40 Then may you know that Charlemagne is come.'* 
And even as he spake, in the northwest, 
Lo ! there uprose a black and threatening cloud, 
Out of whose bosom flashed the light of arms 
Upon the people pent up in the city ; 

45 A light more terrible than any darkness. 

And Charlemagne appeared ; — a Man of Iron ! 

His helmet was of iron, and his gloves 
Of iron, and his breastplate and his greaves 
And tassets were of ii*on, and his shield. 
50 In his left hand he held an iron spear, 



212 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

i 

In his right hand his sword invincible. ^ 

The horse he rode on had the strength of iron, 
And color of iron. All who went before him, 
Beside him and behind him, his whole host, 
55 Were armed with iron, and their hearts within them 

Were stronger than the armor that they wore. a 

The fields and all the roads were j&lled with iron, " 

And points of iron glistened in the sun 
And shed a terror through the city streets. 

60 This at a single glance Olger the Dane 
Saw from the tower, and turning to the king 
Exclaimed in haste : " Behold ! this is the man 
You looked for with such eagerness ! " and then 
Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet. 



INTERLUDE. 

Well pleased all listened to the tale, 
That drew, the Student said, its pith 
And marrow from the ancient myth 
Of some one with an iron flail ; 

5 Or that portentous Man of Brass 
Hephaestus made in days of yore, 
Who stalked about the Cretan shore, 
And saw the ships appear and pass, 
And threw stones at the Argonauts, 

10 Being filled with indiscriminate ire 

That tangled and perplexed his thoughts ; 

But, like a hospitable host, 

When strangers landed on the coast, 

5. Talus, whom Hephaestus (Vulcan) made for Minos, king of Crete. 



INTERLUDE. 213 

Heated himself red-hot with fire, 
15 And hugged them in his arms, and pressed 
Their bodies to his burning breast. 

The Poet answered : " No, not thus 

The legend rose ; it sprang at first 

Oat of the hunger and the thirst 
20 In all men for the marvellous. 

And thus it filled and satisfied 

The imagination of mankind, 

And this ideal to the mind 

Was truer than historic fact. 
26 Fancy enlarged and multiplied 

The terrors of the awful name 

Of Charlemagne, till he became 

Armipotent in every act, 

And, clothed in mystery, appeared 
30 Not what men saw, but what they feared. 

" Besides, unless my memory fail, 

Your some one with an iron flail 

Is not an ancient myth at all, 

But comes much later on the scene 
35 As Talus in the Faerie Queene, 

The iron groom of Artegall, 

Who threshed out falsehood and deceit. 

And truth upheld, and righted wrong, 

And was, as is the swallow, fleet, 
40 And as the lion is, was strong." 

The Theologian said : " Perchance 
Your chronicler in writing this 

35. Spenser, in the Faerie Queene, represents Talus as an attendant on Arte- 
gall, the emblemafeic champion of justice. 



214 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Had in his mind the Anabasis, 

Where Xenophon describes the advance 

46 Of Artaxerxes to the fight ; 

At first the low gray cloud of dust, 
And then a blackness o'er the fields 
As of a passing thunder-gust. 
Then flash of brazen armor bright, 

50 And ranks of men, and spears up-thrust, 
Bowmen and troops with wicker shields, 
And cavalry equipped in white, 
And chariots ranged in front of these 
With scythes upon their axle-trees." 

55 To this the Student answered : " Well, 
I also have a tale to tell 
Of Charlemagne ; a tale that throws 
A softer light, more tinged with rose, 
Than your grim apparition cast 

60 Upon the darkness of the past. 
Listen, and hear in English rhyme 
What the good Monk of Lauresheim 
Gives as the gossip of his time. 
In mediaeval Latin prose." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

EMMA AND EGINHARD. 

When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne, 
In the free schools of Aix, how kings should reign, 
And with them taught the children of the poor 
How subjects should be patient and endure, 
6 He touched the lips of some, as best befit, 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 215 

With honey from the hives of Holy Writ ; 
Others intoxicated with the wine 
Of ancient history, sweet but less divine ; 
Some with the wholesome fruits of grammar fed ; 
10 Others with mysteries of the stars o'erhead, 
That hang suspended in the vaulted sky 
Like lamps in some fair palace vast and high. 

In sooth, it was a pleasant sight to see 
That Saxon monk, with hood and rosary, 

15 With inkhorn at his belt, and pen and book, 
And mingled love and reverence in his look, 
Or hear the cloister and the court repeat 
The measured footfalls of his sandaled feet, 
Or watch him with the pupils of his school, 

20 Gentle of speech, but absolute of rule. 

Among them, always earliest in his place, 
Was Eginhard, a youth of Frankish race. 
Whose face was bright with flashes that forerun 
The splendors of a yet unrisen sun. 
25 To him all things were possible, and seemed 
Not what he had accomplished, but had dreamed, 
And Avhat were tasks to others were his play. 
The pastime of an idle holiday. 

Smaragdo, Abbot of St. Michael's, said, 
30 With many a shrug and shaking of the head, 
Surely some demon must possess the lad, 
Who showed more wit than ever school-boy had, 
And learned his Trivium thus without the rod ; 
But Alcuin said it was the grace of God. 

33. The term applied to what were then the three elementary subjects of 
literary education — logic, rhetoric, and grammar. 



216 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

35 Thus he grew up, in Logic point-device, 
Perfect in Grammar, and in Rhetoric nice ; 
Science of Numbers, Geometric art, 
And lore of Stars, and Music knew by heart ; 
A Minnesinger, long before the times 

40 Of those who sang their love in Suabian rhymes. 

The Emperor, when he heard this good report 
Of Eginhard much buzzed about the court. 
Said to liimself, " This stripling seems to be 
Purposely sent into the world for me ; 

45 He shall become my scribe, and shall be schooled 
In all the arts whereby the world is ruled." 
Thus did the gentle Eginhard attain 
To honor in the court of Charlemagne ; 
Became the sovereign's favorite, his right hand, 

50 So that his fame was great in all the land, 
And all men loved him for his modest grace 
And comeliness of figure and of face. 
An inmate of the palace, yet recluse, 
A man of books, yet sacred from abuse 

55 Among the armed knights with spur on heel, 
The tramp of horses and the clang of steel ; 
And as the Emperor promised he was schooled 
In all the arts by which the world is ruled. 
But the one art supreme, whose law is fate, 

60 The Emperor never dreamed of till too late. 

Home from her convent to the palace came 
The lovely Princess Emma, whose sweet name. 
Whispered by seneschal or sung by bard, 

39. For an account of the Minnesingers, see Bayard Taylor's Studies 
German Literature, chapter ii. 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 217 

Had often touched the soul of Eglnhard. 

65 He saw her from his window, as in state 

She came, by knights attended through the gate ; 
He saw her at the banquet of that day, 
Fresh as the morn, and beautiful as May ; 
He saw her in the garden, as she strayed 

70 Among the flowers of summer with her maid, 
And said to him, " O Eginhard, disclose 
The meaning and the mystery of the rose ; " 
And trembling he made answer : "In good sooth, 
Its mystery is love, its meaning youth ! " 

75 How can I tell the signals and the signs 
By which one heart another heart divines ? 
How can I tell the many thousand ways 
By which it keeps the secret it betrays ? 
O mystery of love ! O strange romance ! 

80 Among the Peers and Paladins of France, 
Shining in steel, and prancing on gay steeds. 
Noble by birth, yet nobler by great deeds, 
The Princess Emma had no words nor looks 
But for this clerk, this man of thought and books. 

85 The summer passed, the autumn came ; the stalks 
Of lilies blackened in the garden walks ; 
The leaves fell, russet-golden and blood-red. 
Love-letters thought the poet fancy-led. 
Or Jove descending in a shower of gold 

90 Into the lap of Danae of old ; 

For poets cherish many a strange conceit. 
And love transmutes all nature by its heat. 

No more the garden lessons, nor the dark 
And hurried meetings in the twilight park ; 



218 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

95 But now the studious lamp, and the delights 
Of firesides in the silent winter nights, 
And watching from his window hour by hour 
The light that burned in Princess Emma's tower. 

At length one night, while musing by the fire, 
100 O'ercome at last by his insane desire, — 

For what will reckless love not do and dare ? — 
He crossed the court, and climbed the winding stair. 
With some feigned message in the Emperor's name ; 
But when he to the lady's presence came 
105 He knelt down at her feet, until she laid 
Her hand upon him, like a naked blade, 
And whispered in his ear : " Arise, Sir Knight, 
To my heart's level, O my heart's delight." 

And there he lingered till the crowing cock, 
110 The Alectryon of the farmyard and the flock. 

Sang his aubade with lusty voice and clear. 

To tell the sleeping world that dawn was near. 

And then they parted ; but at parting, lo ! 

They saw the palace courtyard white with snow, 
115 And, placid as a nun, the moon on high 

Gazing from cloudy cloisters of the sky. 
" Alas ! " he said, " how hide the fatal line 

Of footprints leading from thy door to mine. 

And none returning ! " Ah, he little knev/ 
120 What woman's wit, when put to proof, can do ! 

That night the Emperor, sleepless with the cares 
And troubles that attend on state affairs, 
Had risen before the dawn, and musing gazed 

111. An aubade is a serenade at early dawn. 



EMMA AND EGINHARD. 219 

Into the silent night, as one amazed 
125 To see the calm that reigned o'er all supreme, 
When his own reign was but a troubled dream. 
The moon lit up the gables capped with snow, 
And the white roofs, and half the court below, 
And he beheld a form, that seemed to cower 
130 Beneath a burden, come from Emma's tower, — 
A woman, who upon her shoulders bore 
Clerk Eginhard to his own private door. 
And then returned in haste, but still essayed 
To tread the footprints she herself had made ; 
135 And as she passed across the lighted space, 
The Emperor saw his daughter Emma's face ! 

He started not ; he did not speak or moan, 

But seemed as one who hath been turned to stone ; 

And stood there like a statue, nor awoke 

140 Out of his trance of pain, till morning broke. 
Till the stars faded, and the moon went down, 
And o'er the towers and steeples of the town 
Came the gray daylight ; then the sun, who took 
The empire of the world with sovereign look, 

145 Suffusing with a soft and golden glow 

All the dead landscape in its shroud of snow. 
Touching with flame the tapering chapel spires, 
Windows and roofs, and smoke of household fires, 
And kindling park and palace as he came ; 

150 The stork's nest on the chimney seemed in flame. 
And thus he stood till Eginhard appeared. 
Demure and modest with his comely beard 
And flowing flaxen tresses, come to ask, 
As was his wont, the day's appointed task. 

155 The Emperor looked upon him with a smile. 



220 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And gently said : " My son, wait yet awhile ; 
This hour my council meets upon some great 
And very urgent business of the state. 
Come back within the hour. On thy return 
160 The work appointed for thee shalt thou learn." 

Having dismissed this gallant Troubadour, 
He summoned straight his council, and secure 
And steadfast in his purpose, from the throne 
All the adventure of the night made known ; 
165 Then asked for sentence ; and with eager breath 
Some answered banishment, and others death. 

Then spake the king : " Your sentence is not mine ; 

Life is the gift of God, and is divine ; 

Nor from these palace walls shall one depart 
170 Who carries such a secret in his heart ; 

My better judgment points another way. 

Good Alcuin, I remember how one day 

When my Pepino asked you, ' What are men ? ' 

You wrote upon his tablets with your pen, 
175 ' Guests of the grave and travellers that pass ! * 

This being true of all men, we, alas ! 

Being all fashioned of the selfsame dust, 

Let us be merciful as well as just ; 

This passing traveller, who hath stolen away 
180 The brightest jewel of my crown to-day, 

Shall of himself the precious gem restore ; 

By giving it, I make it mine once more. 

Over those fatal footprints I will throw 

My ermine mantle like another snow." 

185 Then Eginhard was summoned to the hall, 
Aud entered, and in presence of them all, 



INTERLUDE. 221 

The Emperor said : " My son, for thou to me 

Hast been a son, and evermore shalt be, 

Long hast thou served thy sovereign, and thy zeal 

190 Pleads to me with importunate appeal. 
While I have been forgetful to requite 
Thy service and affection as was right. 
But now the hour is come, when I, thy Lord, 
Will crown thy love with such supreme reward, 

195 A gift so precious, kings have striven in vain 
To win it from the hands of Charlemagne." 

Tlien sprang the portals of the chamber wide, 
And Princess Emma entered, in the pride 
Of birth and beauty, that in part o'ercame 

200 The conscious terror and the blush of shame. 
And the good Emperor rose up from his throne, 
And taking her white hand within his own 
Placed it in Eginhard's, and said : " My son, 
This is the gift thy constant zeal hath won ; 

205 Thus I repay the royal debt I owe. 

And cover up the footprints in the snow." 



INTERLUDE. 

Thus ran the Student's pleasant rhyme 
Of Eginhard and love and youth ; 
Some doubted its historic truth. 
But while they doubted, ne'ertheless 
5 Saw in it gleams of truthfulness. 
And thanked the Monk of Lauresheim. 

This they discussed in various mood ; 
Then in the silence that ensued 



222 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Was heard a sharp and sudden sound 
10 As of a bowstring snapped in air ; 
And the Musician with a bound 
Sprang up in terror from his chair, 
And for a moment listening stood, 
Then strode across the room, and found 
15 His dear, his darling violin 
Still lying safe asleep within 
Its little cradle, like a child 
That gives a sudden cry of pain^ 
And wakes to fall asleep again ; 
20 And as he looked at it and smiled, 
By the uncertain light beguiled. 
Despair ! two strings were broken in twain. 

While all lamented and made moan, 
With many a sympathetic word 

25 As if the loss had been their own. 

Deeming the tones they might have heard 
Sweeter than they had heard before, 
They saw the Landlord at the door, 
The missing man, the portly Squire ! 

so He had not entered, but he stood 
With both arms full of seasoned wood, 
To feed the much-devouring fire. 
That like a lion in a cage 
Lashed its long tail and roared with rage. 

35 The missing man ! Ah, yes, they said, 
Missing, but whither had he fled ? 
Where had he hidden himself away ? 
No farther than the barn or shed ; 
He had not hidden himself, nor fled ; 



INTERLUDE. 223 

40 How should he pass the rainy day 
But in his barn with hens and hay, 
Or mending harness, cart, or sled ? 
Now, having come, he needs must stay 
And tell his tale as well as they. 

45 The Landlord answered only : " These 

Are logs from the dead apple-trees 

Of the old orchard planted here 

By the first Howe of SudBury. 

Nor oak nor maple has so clear 
50 A flame, or burns so quietly. 

Or leaves an ash so clean and white ; " 

Thinking by this to put aside 

The impending tale that terrified ; 

When suddenly, to his delight, 
55 The Theologian interposed, 

Saying that when the door was closed. 

And they had stopped that draft of cold, 

Unpleasant night air, he proposed 

To tell a tale world-wide apart 
60 From that the Student had just told ; 

World-wide apart, and yet akin, 

As showing that the human heart 

Beats on forever as of old. 

As well beneath the snow-white fold 
65 Of Quaker kerchief, as within 

Sendal or silk or cloth of gold, 

And without preface would begin. 

And then the clamorous clock struck eight, 
Deliberate, with sonorous chime 
70 Slow measuring out the march of time. 



224 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Like some grave Consul of Old Rome 
In Jupiter's temple driving home 
The nails that marked the year and date. 
Thus interrupted in his rhyme, 

75 The Theologian needs must wait ; 
But quoted Horace, where he sings 
The dire necessity of things, 
That drives into the roofs sublime 
Of new-built houses. of the great 

80 The adamantine nails of Fate. 

When ceased the little carillon 
To herald from its wooden tower 
The important transit of the hour, 
The Theologian hastened on, 
85 Content to be allowed at last 
To sing his Idyl of the Past. 



THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

ELIZABETH. 

As intimated in the Interlude which follows, the tale of Eliza- 
beth was founded on a prose tale by Mrs. Lydia Maria Child, en- 
titled The Youthful Emigrant, which fell under Mr. Longfellow's 
eye in a Portland paper. Besides this, he had recourse to A Call 
to the Unfaithful Professors of Truth, written by John Estaugh in 
his Life Time and now published for General Service. So reads the 
title of a little book printed by Benjamin Franklin in 1744. A 
preface to this book, dated Haddonfield in New Jersey, the 5th 5 
mo. 1743, is Elizabeth Estaugh^ s testimony to the memory of her be- 
loved husband John Estaugh, deceased. Several expressions in the 

76. Book I., Ode 35, Ad Fortunam. 



ELIZABETH. 225 

poem are derived from this little book. Mr. Longfellow here em- 
ployed again the hexameter which he did so much to revive when 
he wrote Evangeline and The Courtship of Miles Standish. 



I. 

" Ah, how short are the days ! How soon the night 

overtakes us ! 
In the old country the twilight is longer ; but here in 

the forest 
Suddenly comes the dark, with hardly a pause in its 

coming, 
Hardly a moment between the two lights, the day and 

the lamplight ; 
5 Yet how grand is the winter ! How spotless the 

snow is, and perfect ! " 

Thus spake Elizabeth Haddon at nightfall to 
Hannah the housemaid, 
As in the farm-house kitchen, that served for kitchen 

and parlor. 
By the window she sat with her work, and looked on 

a landscape 
White as the great white sheet that Peter saw in his 
vision, 
10 By the four corners let down and descending out of 
the heavens. 
Covered with snow were the forests of pine, and the 

fields and the meadows. 
Nothing was dark but the sky, and the distant Dela- 
ware flowing 
Down from its native hills, a peaceful and bountiful 
river. 

9. See Acts of the Apostles^ chap. 10. 



226 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then with a smile on her lips made answer Hannah 
the housemaid : 
" Beautiful winter ! yea, the winter is beautiful, 

surely, 
16 If one could only walk like a fly with one's feet on 
the ceiling. 

But the great Delaware River is not like the Thames, 
as we saw it 

Out of our upper windows in Rotherhithe Street in 
the Borough, 

Crowded with masts and sails of vessels coming and 
going ; 
20 Here there is nothing but pines, with patches of snow 
on their branches. 

There is snow in the air, and see ! it is falling al- 
ready ; 

All the roads will be blocked, and I pity Joseph to- 
morrow. 

Breaking his way through the drifts, with his sled 
and oxen ; and then, too. 

How in all the world shall we get to Meeting on 
First-Day ? " 

26 But Elizabeth checked her, and answered, mildly 

reproving : ' 

" Surely the Lord will provide ; for unto the snow 
He sayeth. 

Be thou on the earth, the good Lord sayeth; He 
it is 

Giveth snow like wool, like ashes scatters the hoar- 
frost." 

So she folded her work and laid it away in her 
basket. 



ELIZABETH. 227 

30 Meanwhile Hannah the housemaid had closed and 

fastened the shutters, 
Spread the cloth, and lighted the lamp on the table, 

and placed there 
Plates and cups from the dresser, the brown rye loaf, 

and the butter 
Fresh from the dairy, and then, protecting her hand 

with a holder, 
Took from the crane in the chimney the steaming 

and simmering kettle, 
^^ Poised it aloft in the air, and filled up the earthen 

teapot, 
Made in Delft, and adorned with quaint and wonder- 
ful figures. 

Then Elizabeth said : " Lo ! Joseph is long on his 
errand. 
I have sent him away with a hamper of food and of 

clothing 
For the poor in the village. A good lad and cheer- 
ful is Joseph ; 
40 In the right place is his heart, and his hand is ready 
and willing." 

Thus in praise of her servant she spake, and 
Hannah the housemaid 
Laughed with her eyes, as she listened, but governed 

her tongue, and was silent. 
While her mistress went on : " The house is far from 

the village ; 
"We should be lonely here, were it not for Friends 
that in passing 
45 Sometimes tarry o'ernight, and make us glad by their 
coming." 



228 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Thereupon answered Hannah the housemaid, the 
thrifty, the frugal : 
" Yea, they come and they tarry, as if thy house were 
a tavern ; 
Open to all are its doors, and they come and go like 

the pigeons 
In and out of the holes of the pigeon-house over the 
hayloft, 
60 Cooing and smoothing their feathers, and hasking 
themselves in the sunshine." 

But in meekness of spirit, and calmly, Elizabeth 
answered : 
" All I have is the Lord's, not mine to give or with- 
hold it ; 
I but distribute his gifts to the poor, and to those of 

his people 
Who in journeyings often surrender their lives to his 
service. 
B5 His, not mine, are the gifts, and only so far can I 
make them 
Mine, as in giving I add my heart to whatever is 

given. 
Therefore my excellent father first built this house 

in the clearing ; 
Though he came not himself, I came ; for the Lord 

was my guidance. 
Leading me here for this service. We must not 
grudge, then, to others 
60 Ever the cup of cold water, or crumbs that fall from 
our table." 



ELIZABETH. 229 

Thus rebuked, for a season was silent the penitent 
housemaid ; 

And Elizabeth said in tones even sweeter and softer : 
" Dost thou remember, Hannah, the great May- 
Meeting in London, 

When I was still a child, how we sat in the silent 
assembly, 
65 Waiting upon the Lord in patient and passive sub- 
mission ? 

No one spake, till at length a young man, a stranger, 
John Estaugh, 

Moved by the Spirit, rose, as if he were John the 
Apostle, 

Speaking such words of power that they bowed our 
hearts, as a strong wind 

Bends the grass of the fields, or grain that is ripe for 
the sickle. 
70 Thoughts of him to-day have been oft borne inward 
upon me, 

Wherefore I do not know ; but strong is the feeling 
within me 

That once more I shall see a face I have never for- 
gotten." 

II. ^ 

E'en as she sjDake they heard the musical jangle of 

sleigh-bells. 
First far off, with a dreamy sound and faint in the 

distance, 
75 Then growing nearer and louder, and turning into 

the farmyard, 
Till it stopped at the door, with a sudden creaking of 

runners. 



230 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then there were voices heard as of two men talking 
together, 

And to herself, as she listened, upbraiding said Han- 
nah the housemaid, 
*' It is Joseph come back, and I wonder what stranger 
is with him." 

80 Down from its nail she took and lighted the great 

tin lantern, 
Pierced with holes, and round, and roofed like the 

top of a lighthouse. 
And went forth to receive the coming guest at the 

doorway. 
Casting into the dark a network of glimmer and 

shadow 
Over the falling snow, the yellow sleigh, and the 

horses, 
85 And the- forms of men, snow-covered, looming 

gigantic. 
Then giving Joseph the lantern, she entered the 

house with the stranger. 
Youthful he was and tall, and his cheeks aglow with 

the night air ; 
And as he entered, Elizabeth rose, and, going to 

meet him, * 
As if an unseen power had announced and preceded 

his presence, 
90 And he had come as one whose coming had long 

been expected, 
Quietly gave him her hand, and said, "Thou art 

welcome, John Estaugh," 
And the stranger replied, with staid and quiet be- 
havior : 



ELIZABETH. 231 

" Dost thou remember me still, Elizabeth ? After so 

many- 
Years have passed, it seemeth a wonderful thing that 

I find thee. 
95 Surely the hand of the Lord conducted me here to 

thy threshold. 
For as I journeyed along, and pondered alone and in 

silence 
On his ways, that are past finding out, I saw in the 

snow-mist, 
Seemingly weary with travel, a wayfarer, who by the 

wayside 
Paused and waited. Forthwith I remembered Queen 

Candaee's eunuch, 
100 How on the way that goes down from Jerusalem 

unto Gaza, 
Reading Esaias the Prophet, he journeyed, and 

spake unto Philip, 
Praying him to come up and sit in his chariot with 

him. 
So I greeted the man, and he mounted the sledge 

beside me. 
And as we talked on the way he told me of thee and 

thy homestead, 
105 How, being led by the light of the Spirit, that never 

deceiveth, 
Full of zeal for the work of the Lord, thou hadst 

come to' this country. 
And I remembered thy name, and thy father and 

mother in England, 
And on my journey have stopped to see thee, Eliz- 
abeth Haddon, 

99. See Acts of the Apostles, chapter 8. 



232 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Wishing to strengthen thy hand in the labors of love 
thou art doing." 

110 And Elizabeth answered with confident voice, and 
serenely 
Looking into his face with her innocent eyes as she 
answered, 
*' Surely the hand of the Lord is in it ; his Spirit 
hath led thee 
Out of the darkness and storm to the light and peace 
of my fireside." 

Then, with stamping of feet the door was opened, 
and Joseph 
115 Entered, bearing the lantern, and, carefully blowing 
the light out, 

Hung it up on its nail, and all sat down to their 
supper ; 

For underneath that roof was no distinction of per- 
sons. 

But one family only, one heart, one hearth, and one 
household. 

When the supper was ended they drew their chairs 
to the fireplace, 
120 Spacious, open-hearted, profuse of flame and of fire- 
wood. 
Lord of forests unfelled, and not a gleaner of fagots. 
Spreading its arms to embrace with inexhaustible 

bounty 
All who fled from the cold, exultant laughing at 
winter ! 



ELIZABETH. 233 

Only Hannah the housemaid was busy in clearing the 
table, 
125 Coming and going, and bustling about in closet and 
chamber. 

Then Elizabeth told her story again to John 
Estaugh, 

Going far back to the past, to the early days of her 
childhood ; 

How she had waited and watched, in all her doubts 
and besetments, 

Comforted with the extendings and holy, sweet in- 
flowings 
130 Of the spirit of love, till the voice imperative sounded, 

And she obeyed the voice, and cast in her lot with her 
people 

Here in the desert land, and God would provide for 
the issue. 

Meanwhile Joseph sat with folded hands, and de- 
murely 
Listened, or seemed to hsten, and in the silence that 
followed 
135 Nothing was heard for a while but the step of Hannah 
the housemaid 
Walking the floor overhead, and setting the chambers 

in order. 
And Elizabeth said, with a smile of compassion, " The 

maiden 
Hath a light heart in her breast, but her feet are 

heavy and awkward." 
Inwardly Joseph laughed, but governed his tongue 
and was silent. 



234 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN, 

140 Then came the hour of sleep, death's counterfeit, 

nightly rehearsal 
Of the great Silent Assembly, the Meeting of shadows, 

where no man 
Speaketh, but all are still, and the peace and rest are 

unbroken ! 
Silently over that house the blessing of slumber de- 
scended. 
But when the morning dawned, and the sun uprose 

in his splendor, 
145 Breaking his way through clouds that encumbered his 

path in the heavens, 
Joseph was seen with his sled and oxen breaking a 

pathway 
Through the drifts of snow ; the horses already were 

harnessed, 
And John Estaugh was standing and taking leave at 

the threshold. 
Saying that he should return at the Meeting in May ; 

while above them 
150 Hannah the housemaid, the homely, was looking out 

of the attic. 
Laughing aloud at Joseph, then suddenly closing the 

casement. 
As the bird in a cuckoo-clock peeps out of its window, 
Then disappears again, and closes the shutter be- 
hind it. 

III. 

Now was the winter gone, and the snow ; and Robin 
the Redbreast 
185 Boasted on bush and tree it was he, it was he and no 
other 



ELIZABETH. 236 

That had covered with leaves the Babes in the Wood. 

and bhthely 
All the birds sang with him, and little cared for his 

boasting, 
Or for his Babes in the Wood, or the Cruel Uncle, 

and only 
Sang for the mates they had chosen, and cared for 

the nests they were building. 
160 With them, but more sedately and meekly, Elizabeth 

Haddon 
Sang in her inmost heart, but her lips were silent and 

songless. 
Thus came the lovely spring with a rush of blossoms 

and music, 
Flooding the earth with flowers, and the air with 

melodies vernal. 

Then it came to pass, one pleasant morning, that 
slowly 
165 Up the road there came a cavalcade, as of pilgrims, 
Men and women, wending their way to the Quarterly 

Meeting 
In the neighboring town ; and with them came riding 

John Estaugh. 
At Elizabeth's door they stopped to rest, and alight- 
ing 
Tasted the currant wine, and the bread of rye, and 
the honey 
170 Brought from the hives that stood by the sunny wall 
of the garden ; 
Then remounted their horses, refreshed, and con- 
tinued their journey. 
And Ehzabeth with them, and Joseph, and Hannah 
the housemaid. 



236 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But, as they started, Elizabeth lingered a little, and 

leaning 
Over her horse's neck, in a whisper said to John 
Estaugh : 
" Tarry a while behind, for I have something to tell 
thee, 
176 Not to be spoken lightly, nor in the presence of 
others ; 
Them it concerneth not, only thee and me it con- 

cerneth." 
And they rode slowly along through the woods, con- 
versing together. 
It was a pleasure to breathe the fragrant air of the 
forest ; 
180 It was a pleasure to live on that bright and happy 
May morning ! 

Then Elizabeth said, though still with a certain 
reluctance. 
As if impelled to reveal a secret she fain would have 
guarded : 
" I will no longer conceal what is laid upon me to tell 
thee ; 
I have received from the Lord a charge to love thee, 
John Estaugh." 

185 And John Estaugh made answer, surprised at the 
words she had spoken : 
" Pleasant to me are thy converse, thy ways, thy 
meekness of spirit ; 
Pleasant thy frankness of speech, and thy soul's im- 
maculate whiteness. 
Love without dissimulation, a holy and inward adorn- 
ing. 



ELIZABETH. 237 

But I have yet no light to lead me, no voice to direct 
me. 
190 When the Lord's work is done, and the toil and the 
labor completed 

He hath appointed to me, I will gather into the still- 
ness 

Of my own heart awhile, and hsten and wait for his 
guidance." 

Then Elizabeth said, not troubled nor wounded in 
spirit : 
" So is it best, John Estaugh. We will not speak of 
it further. 
195 It hath been laid upon me to tell thee this, for to- 
morrow 
Thou art going away, across the sea, and I know 

not 
When I shall see thee more ; but if the Lord hath 

decreed it. 
Thou wilt return again to seek me here and to find 

me." 
And they rode onward in silence, and entered the 
town with the others. 

IV. 

200 Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in 
passing, 

Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the dark- 
ness; 

So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one 
another. 

Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a 
silence. 



238 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Now went on as of old the quiet life of the home- 
stead. 
206 Patient and unrepining Elizabeth labored, in all 
, things 
Mindful not of herself, but bearing the burdens of 

others, 
Always thoughtful and kind and untroubled ; and 

Hannah the housemaid. 
Diligent early and late, and rosy with washing and 

scouring, 
Still as of old disparaged the eminent merits of 

Joseph, 
210 And was at times reproved for her light and frothy 

behavior. 
For her shy looks, and her careless words, and her 

evil surmisings. 
Being pressed down somewhat, like a cart with 

sheaves overladen. 
As she would sometimes say to Joseph, quoting the 

Scriptures. 

Meanwhile John Estaugh departed across the sea, 
and departing 
215 Carried hid in his heart a secret sacred and pre- 
cious, 

Filling its chambers with fragrance, and seeming to 
him in its sweetness 

Mary's ointment of spikenard, that filled all the 
house with its odor. 

O lost days" of delight, that are wasted in doubting 
and waiting! 

O lost hours and days in which we might have been 
happy ! 



INTERLUDE. 239 

220 But the light shone at last, and guided his wavering 
footsteps, 
And at last came the voice, imperative, questionless, 
certain. 

Then John Estaugh came back o'er the sea for the 

gift that was offered. 
Better than houses and lands, the gift of a woman's 

affection. 
And on the First-Day that followed, he rose in the 

Silent Assembly, 
225 Holding in his strong hand a hand that trembled a 

little. 
Promising to be kind and true and faithful in all 

things. 
Such were the marriage rites of John and Elizabeth 

Estaugh. 

And not otherwise Joseph, the honest, the diligent 
servant, 
Sped in his bashful wooing with homely Hannah the 
housemaid ; 
230 For when he asked her the question, she answered, 
" Nay ; " and then added : 
" But thee may make believe, and see what will come 
of it, Joseph." 

INTERLUDE. 

" A PLEASANT and a winsome tale," 
The Student said, " though somewhat pale 
And quiet in its coloring. 
As if it caught its tone and air 

5 From the gray suits that Quakers wear ; 



240 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Yet worthy of some German bard, 
Hebel, or Voss, or Eberhard, 
Who love of humble themes to sing, 
In humble verse ; but no more true 
10 Than was the tale I told to you." 

The Theologian made reply, 

And with some warmth, " That I deny ; 

'T is no invention of my own, 

But something well and widely known 
15 To readers of a riper age. 

Writ by the skilful hand that wrote 

The Indian tale of Hobomok, 

And Philothea's classic page. 

I found it like a waif afloat, 
20 Or dulse uprooted from its rock. 

On the swift tides that ebb and flow 

In daily papers, and at flood 

Bear freighted vessels to and fro. 

But later, when the ebb is low, 
26 Leave a long waste of sand and mud." 

" It matters little," quoth the Jew ; 
*' The cloak of truth is lined with lies, 

Sayeth some proverb old and wise ; 

And Love is master of all arts, 
30 And puts it into human hearts 

The strangest things to say and do." 

And here the controversy closed 
Abruptly, ere 't was well begun ; 

16. The fullest account of this author is to be found in Letters of Lydia 
Maria Child, toith a Biographical Introduction by John G. Whittier, and an 
Appendix by Wendell Phillips, 1883, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 241 

For the Sicilian interposed 
35 With, " Lordlings, listen, every one 

That listen may, unto a tale 

That 's merrier than the nightingale ; 

A tale that cannot boast, forsooth, 

A single rag or shred of truth ; 
40 That does not leave the mind in doubt 

As to the with it or without ; 

A naked falsehood and absurd 

As mortal ever told or heard. 

Therefore I tell it ; or, maybe, 
45 Simply because it pleases me." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 

This story follows pretty closely an Italian tale which appeared 
also in English in 1821, with illustrations by George Cmikshank, 
under the title The Cordelier Metamorphosed, a novel attributed to 
M. Colembo, in Italian and English prose, and the Cordelier Cheval 
of M. Piron, in French and English. 

Once on a time, some centuries ago, 

In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars 

Wended their weary way, with footsteps slow, 

Back to their convent, whose white walls and spires 
6 Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow ; 

Covered with dust they were, and torn by briers, 

And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs 

The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks. 

The first was Brother Anthony, a spare 
10 And silent man, with pallid cheeks and thin, 



242 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, prayer, 
Solemn and gray, and worn with discipline, 
As if his body but white ashes were. 

Heaped on the living coals that glowed within ; 
15 A simple monk, like many of his day, 
Whose instinct was to listen and obey. 

A different man was Brother Timothy, 
Of larger mould and of a coarser paste ; 

A rubicund and stalwart monk was he, 
20 Broad in the shoulders, broader in the waist. 

Who often filled the dull refectory 

With noise by which the convent was disgraced. 

But to the mass-book gave but little heed, 

By reason he had never learned to read. 

26 Now, as they passed the outskirts of a wood, 

They saw, with mingled pleasure and surprise, 
Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood 
Lazily winking his large, limpid eyes. 
The farmer Gilbert, of that neighborhood, 
30 His owner was, who, looking for supplies 
Of fagots, deeper in the wood had strayed. 
Leaving his beast to ponder in the shade. 

As soon as Brother Timothy espied 

The patient animal, he said : " Good-lack ! 
35 Thus for our needs doth Providence j^rovide ; 
We 11 lay our wallets on the creature's back." 
This being done, he leisurely untied 

From head and neck the halter of the jack, 
And put it round his own, and to the tree 
40 Stood tethered fast as if the ass were he. 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 243 

And bursting forth into a merry laugh, 
He cried to Brother Anthony : " Away ! 

And drive the ass before you with your staff ; 
And when you reach the convent you may say 
45 You left me at a farm, half tired and half 
111 with a fever, for a night and day, 

And that the farmer lent this ass to bear 

Our wallets, that are heavy with good fare." 

Now Brother Anthony, who knew the pranks 
60 Of Brother Timothy, would not persuade 
Or reason with him on his quirks and cranks. 

But, being obedient, silently obeyed ; 
And, smiting with his staff the ass's flanks. 
Drove him before him over hill and glade, 
65 Safe with his provend to the convent gate, 
Leaving poor Brother Timothy to his fate. 

Then Gilbert, laden wdth fagots for his fire, 

Forth issued from the wood, and stood aghast 
To see the ponderous body of the friar 
60 Standing where he had left his donkey last. 
Trembling he stood, and dared not venture nigher. 
But stared, and gaped, and crossed himself full 
fast ; 
For, being credulous and of little wit. 
He thought it was some demon from the pit. 

65 While speechless and bewildered thus he gazed, 
And dropped his load of fagots on the ground, 
Quoth Brother Timothy ; " Be not amazed 

That where you left a donkey should be found 
A poor Franciscan friar, half-starved and crazed, 
70 Standing demure and with a halter bound ; 



244 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But set me free, and hear the jDiteous story 
Of Brother Timothy of Casal-Maggiore. 

" I am a sinful man, although you see 

I wear the consecrated cowl and cape ; 
76 You never owned an ass but you owned me. 

Changed and transformed from my own natural 
shape, 
All for the deadly sin of gluttony, 

From which I could not otherwise escape 
Than by this penance, dieting on grass, 
80 And being worked and beaten as an ass. 

" Think of the ignominy I endured ; 
Think of the miserable life I led, 
The toil and blows to which I was inured, 
My wretched lodging in a windy shed, 
85 My scanty fare so grudgingly procured, 

The damp and musty straw that formed my bed ! 
But, having done this penance for my sins, 
My life as man and monk again begins." 

The simple Gilbert, hearing words like these, 
90 Was conscience-stricken, and fell down apace 
Before the friar upon his bended knees, 

And with a suppliant voice implored his grace ; 
And the good monk, now very much at ease, 
Granted him pardon with a smiling face, 
95 Nor could refuse to be that night his guest. 
It being late, and he in need of rest. 

Upon a hillside, where the olive thrives, 

With figures painted on its whitewashed walls, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 245 

The cottage stood ; and near the liumming hives 
100 Made murmurs as of far-off waterfalls ; 
A place where those who love secluded lives 

Might live content, and, free from noise and 
brawls, 
Like Claudian's Old Man of Verona here 
Measure by fruits the slow-revolving year. 

106 And, coming to this cottage of content. 

They found his children, and the buxom wench 
His wife, Dame Cicely, and his father, bent 
With years and labor, seated on a bench, 
Repeating over some obscure event 
110 In the old wars of Milanese and French ; 
All welcomed the Franciscan, with a sense 
Of sacred awe and humble reverence. 

When Gilbert told them what had come to pass, 
How beyond question, cavil, or surmise, 
115 Good Brother Timothy had been their ass, 

You should have seen the wonder in their eyes ; 
You should have heard them cry " Alas! alas ! " 
Have heard their lamentations and their sighs ! 
For all believed the story, and began 
120 To see a saint in this afflicted man. 

Forthwith there was prepared a grand repast, 

To satisfy the craving of the friar 
After so rigid and prolonged a fast ; 

The bustling housewife stirred the kitchen fire ; 

103. Claudian, a late Latin poet, has an epigram, De sene Veronensi, qui suh- 
urbium nunquam egressus est, that is, " On an old man of Verona who never 
left his suburban home." This old man, according to the poet, had been wont 
to measure time by the succession, not of consuls, but of fruits. 



246 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

126 Then her two barn-yard fowls, her best and last, 
Were put to death, at her express desire, 
And served up with a salad in a bowl, 
And flasks of country wine to crown the whole. 

It would not be believed should I repeat 
130 How hungry Brother Timothy appeared ; 
It was a pleasure but to see him eat, 

His white teeth flashing through his russet beard, 
His face aglow and flushed with wine and meat. 
His roguish eyes that rolled and laughed and 
leered ! 
135 Lord ! how he drank the blood-red country wine 
As if the village vintage were divine ! 

And all the while he talked without surcease, 
And told his merry tales with jovial glee 

That never flagged, but rather did increase, 
140 And laughed aloud as if insane were he. 

And wagged his red beard, matted like a fleece, 
And cast such glances at Dame Cicely 

That Gilbert now grew angry with his guest. 

And thus in words his rising wrath expressed. 

" Good father," said he, "• easily we see 
146 How needful in some persons, and how right, 
Mortification of the flesh may be. 

The indulgence you have given it to-night, 
After long penance, clearly proves to me 
150 Your strength against temptation is but slight, 
And shows the dreadful peril you are in 
Of a relapse into your deadly sin. 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 247 

" To-morrow morning, with the rising sun, 
Go back unto your convent, nor refrain 
155 From fasting and from scourging, for you run 
Great danger to become an ass again, 
Since monkish flesh and asinine are one ; 

Therefore be wise, nor longer here remain. 
Unless you wish the scourge should be applied 
160 By other hands, that will not spare your hide." 

When this the monk had heard, his color fled 
And then returned, like lightning in the air, 

Till he was all one blush from foot to head. 
And even the bald spot in his russet hair 
165 Turned from its usual pallor to bright red ! 
The old man was asleep upon his chair. 

Then all retired, and sank into the deep 

And helpless imbecility of sleep. 

They slept until the dawn of day drew near, 
170 Till the cock should have crowed, but did not 
crow. 
For they had slain the shining chanticleer 
And eaten him for supper, as you know. 
The monk was up betimes and of good cheer. 
And, having breakfasted, made haste to go, 
175 As if he heard the distant matin bell. 
And had but little time to say farewell. 

Fresh was the morning as the breath of kine ; 
Odors of herbs commingled with the sweet 
Balsamic exhalations of the pine ; 
180 A haze was in the air presaging heat ; 
Uprose the sun above the Apennine, 



248 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And all the misty valleys at its feet 
Were full of the delirious song of birds, 
Voices of men, and bells, and low of herds. 

185 All this to Brother Timothy was naught ; 
He did not care for scenery, nor here 
His busy fancy found the thing it sought ; 

But when he saw the convent walls appear, 
And smoke from kitchen chimneys upward caught 
190 And whirled aloft into the atmosphere, 
He quickened his slow footsteps, like a beast 
That scents the stable a league off at least. 

And as he entered through the convent gate 
He saw there in the court the ass, who stood 
195 Twirling his ears about, and seemed to wait. 
Just as he found liim waiting in the wood ; 
And told the Prior that, to alleviate 

The daily labors of the brotherhood, 
The owner, being a man of means and thrift, 
200 Bestowed him on the convent as a gift. 

And thereupon the Prior for many days 
Revolved this serious matter in his mind, 

And turned it over many different ways. 
Hoping that some safe issue he might find ; 
205 But stood in fear of what the world might say, 
If he accepted presents of this kind, 

Employing beasts of burden for the packs 

That lazy monks should carry on their backs. 

Then, to avoid all scandal of the sort, 
210 And stop the mouth of cavil, he decreed 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGIORE. 249 

That he would cut the tedious matter short, 
And sell the ass with all convenient speed, 

Thus saving the expense of his support, 

And hoarding- something for a time of need. 
215 So he dispatched him to the neighboring Fair, 

And freed himself from cumber and from care. 

It happened now by chance, as some might say, 

Others perhaps would call it destiny, 
Gilbert was at the Fair ; and heard a bray, 
220 And nearer came, and saw that it was he. 
And whispered in his ear, " Ah, lackaday ! 
Good father, the rebellious flesh, I see. 
Has changed you back into an ass again. 
And all my admonitions were in vain." 

225 The ass, who felt this breathing in his ear, 

Did not turn round to look, but shook his head, 
As if he were not pleased these words to hear, 

And contradicted all that had been said. 
And this made Gilbert cry in voice more clear, 
230 " I know you well ; your hair is russet-red ; 
Do not deny it ; for you are the same 
Franciscan friar, and Timothy by name." 

The ass, though now the secret had come out. 
Was obstinate, and shook his head again ; 
235 Until a crowd was gathered round about 
To hear tliis dialogue between the twain ; 
And raised their voices in a noisy shout 

When Gilbert tried to make the matter plain. 
And flouted him and mocked him all day long 
240 With laughter and with jibes and scraps of song. 



250 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

*' If this be Brother Timothy," they cried, 

'* Buy him, and feed him on the tenderest grass 
Thou canst not do too much for one so tried 
As to be twice transformed into an ass." 
245 So simple Gilbert bought him, and untied 
His halter, and o'er mountain and morass 
He led him homeward, talking as he went 
Of good behavior and a mind content. 

The children saw them coming, and advanced, 
250 Shouting with joy, and hung about his neck, — 
Not Gilbert's, but the ass's, — round him danced, 
And wove green garlands wherewithal to deck 
His sacred person ; for again it chanced 

Their childish feelings, without rein or check, 
255 Could not discriminate in any way 
A donkey from a friar of Orders Gray. 

" Brother Timothy," the children said, 

" You have come back to us just as before ; 
We were afraid, and thought that you were dead, 
260 And we should never see you any more." 
And then they kissed the white star on his head, 

That like a birthmark or a badge he wore. 
And patted him upon the neck and face. 
And said a thousand things with childish grace. 

265 Thenceforward and forever he was known 
As Brother Timothy, and led alway 
A life of luxury, till he had grown 

Ungrateful, being stuffed with corn and hay, 
And very vicious. Then in angry tone, 
270 Rousing himself, poor Gilbert said one day, 



THE MONK OF CASAL-MAGGWRE. 251 

" When simple kindness is misunderstood 
A little flagellation may do good." 

His many vices need not here be told ; 
Among them was a habit that he had 
275 Of flinging up his heels at young and old, 
Breaking his halter, running off like mad 
O'er pasture-lands and meadow, wood and wold, 

And other misdemeanors quite as bad ; 
But worst of all was breaking from his shed 
280 At night, and ravaging the cabbage-bed. 

So Brother Timothy went back once more 

To his old life of labor and distress ; 
Was beaten worse than he had been before ; 

And now, instead of comfort and caress, , 
285 Came labors manifold and trials sore ; 

And as his toils increased his food grew less, 
Until at last the great consoler, Death, 
Ended his many sufferings with his breath. 

Great was the lamentation when he died ; 
290 And mainly that he died impenitent ; 
Dame Cicely bewailed, the children cried, 
The old man still remembered the event 
In the French war, and Gilbert magnified 
His many virtues, as he came and went, 
296 And said : " Heaven pardon Brother Timothy, 
And keep us from the sin of gluttony." 



252 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



INTERLUDE. 

" SiGNOR LuiGi," said the Jew, 
When the Sicilian's tale was told, 

" The were-wolf is a legend old, 
But the were-ass is something new, 

5 And yet for one I think it true. 
The days of wonder have not ceased ; 
If there are beasts in forms of men. 
As sure it happens now and then, 
Why may not man become a beast, 
10 In way of punishment at least ? 

" But this I will not now discuss ; 
I leave the theme, that we may thus 
Remain within the realm of song. 
The story that I told before, 

16 Though not acceptable to all. 
At least you did not find too long. 
I beg you, let me try again, 
With something in a different vein. 
Before you bid the curtain fall. 

20 Meanwhile keep watch upon the door. 
Nor let the Landlord leave his chair, 
Lest he should vanish into air. 
And so elude our search once more." 

Thus saying, from his lips he blew 
25 A little cloud of perfumed breath, 
And then, as if it were a clue 
To lead his footsteps safely through, 
Began his tale as foUoweth. 



SCANDERBEG. 253 

THE SPANISH JEW'S SECOND TALE. 

SCANDERBEG. 

George Castriota (1406-1467), Prince of Albania, the patriot 
chief of Epirus, was called by the Turks Scanderbeg", or Iskander 
Beg-, i. c, Alexander the chief. 

The battle is fought and won 
By King Ladislaus, the Hun, 
In fire of hell and death's frost, 
On the day of Pentecost. 
^ And in rout before his path 
From the field of battle red 
Flee all that are not dead 
Of the army of Amurath. 

In the darkness of the night 
10 Iskander, the pride and boast 

Of that mighty Othman host, 

"With his routed Turks, takes flight 

From the battle fought and lost 

On the day of Pentecost ; 
15 Leaving behind him dead 

The army of Amurath, 

The vanguard as it led, 

The rearguard as it fled. 

Mown down in the bloody swath 
20 Of the battle's aftermath. 

But he cared not for Hospodars, 
Nor for Baron or Voivode, 
As on through the night he rode 
And gazed at the fateful stars 
25 That were shining overhead ; 



254 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

But smote his steed with his staff, 
And smiled to himself, and said : 
" This is the time to laugh." 

In the middle of the night, 
30 In a halt of the hurrying flight. 
There came a Scribe of the King 
Wearing his signet ring. 
And said in a voice severe : 
" This is the first dark blot 
35 On thy name, George Castriot ! 
Alas ! why art thou here, 
And the army of Amurath slain, 
And left on the battle plain ? " 

And Iskander answered and said : 
" They lie on the bloody sod 
41 By the hoofs of horses trod ; 
But this was the decree 
Of the watchers overhead ; 
For the war belonged to God, 
45 And in battle who are we. 

Who are we, that shall withstand 
The wind of His lifted hand ? " 

Then he bade them bind with chains 

This man of books and brains ; 
60 And the Scribe said : " What misdeed 

Have I done, that, without need, 

Thou doest to me this thing ? " 

And Iskander answering 

Said unto him : " Not one 
55 Misdeed to me hast thou done ; 

But for fear that thou shouldst run 



SCANDERBEG. 255 

And hide thyself from me, 
Have I done this unto thee. 

" Now write me a writing, O Scribe, 
60 And a blessing be on thy tribe ! 

A writing sealed with thy ring. 

To King Amm'ath's Pasha 

In the city of Croia, 

The city moated and walled, 
65 That he surrender the same 

In the name of my master, the King ; 

For what is writ i^ his name 

Can never be recalled." 

And the Scribe bowed low in dread, 
70 And unto Iskander said : 
" Allah is great and just. 

But we are as ashes and dust ; 

How shall I do this thing, 

When I know that my guilty head 
75 Will be forfeit to the King ? " 

Then swift as a shooting star 

The curved and shining blade 

Of Iskander's scimitar 

From its sheath, with jewels bright, 
80 Shot, as he thundered : " Write ! " 

And the trembling Scribe obeyed, 

And wrote in the fitful glare 

Of the bivouac fire apart, 

With the chill of the midnight air 
85 On his forehead white and bare. 

And the chill of death in his heart. 



256 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Then again Iskander cried : 
" Now follow whither I ride, 

For here thou must not stay. 
90 Thou shalt be as my dearest friend, 
And honors without end 
Shall surround thee on every side, 
And attend thee night and day." 
But the sullen Scribe replied : 
" Our pathways here divide ; 
96 Mine leadeth not thy way." 

And even as he spoke* 

Fell a sudden scimitar stroke, 

When no one else was near ; 

100 And the Scribe sank to the ground. 
As a stone, pushed from the brink 
Of a black pool, might sink 
With a sob and disappear ; 
And no one saw the deed ; 

105 And in the stillness around 

No sound was heard but the sound 
Of the hoofs of Iskander's steed. 
As forward he sprang with a bound. 

Then onward he rode and afar, 
110 With scarce three hundred men, 
Through river and forest and fen. 
O'er the mountains of Argentar ; 
And his heart was merry within. 
When he crossed the river Drin, 
115 And saw in the gleam of the morn 
The White Castle Ak-Hissar, 
The city Croia called, 
The city moated and walled. 



SCANDERBEG. 257 

The city where he was born, — 
120 And above it the morning star. 

Then his trumpeters in th« van 

On their silver bugles blew, 

And in crowds about him ran 

Albanian and Turkoman, 
125 That the sound together drew. 

And he feasted with his friends, 

And when they were warm with wine, 

He said : " O friends of mine, 

Behold what fortune sends, 
130 And what the fates design ! 

King Amurath commands 

That my father's wide domain, 

This city and all its lands, 

Shall be given to me again." 

135 Then to the Castle White 

He rode in regal state, 

And entered in at the gate 

In all his arms bedight. 

And gave to the Pasha 
140 Who ruled in Croia 

The writing of the King, 

Sealed with his signet ring. 

And the Pasha bowed his head, 

And after a silence said : 
" Allah is just and great ! 
146 I yield to the will divine : 

The city and lands are thine ; 

Who shall contend with fate ? '* 

Anon from the castle walls 
150 The crescent banner falls, 



258 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

And the crowd beholds instead, 

Like a j)ortent in the sky, 

Iskander's banner fly, 

The Black Eagle with double head ; 
155 And a shout ascends on high. 

For men's souls are tired of the Turks, 

And their wicked ways and works, 

That have made of Ak-Hissar 

A city of the j^lague ; 
160 And the loud, exultant cry 

That echoes wide and far 

Is : '' Long live Scanderbeg ! " 

It was thus Iskander came 
Once more unto his own ; 

165 And the tidings, like the flame 
Of a conflagration blown 
By the winds of summer, ran. 
Till the land was in a blaze, 
And the cities far and near, 

170 Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir, 

In his Book of the Words of the Days, 
" Were taken as a man 
Would take the tijD of his ear." 



INTERLUDE. 

" Now that is after my own heart," 
The Poet cried ; " one understands 
Your swarthy hero Scanderbeg, 
Gauntlet on hand and boot on leg, 

B And skilled in every warlike art. 
Riding through his Albanian lands, 



INTERLUDE. 259 

And following the auspicious star 
That shone for him o'er Ak-Hissar." 

The Theologian added here 
10 His word of praise not less sincere, 

Although he ended with a jibe ; 
" The hero of romance and song 

Was born," he said, " to right the wrong ; 

And I approve ; but all the same 
15 That bit of treason with the Scribe 

Adds nothing to your hero's fame." 

The Student praised the good old times, 
And liked the canter of the rhymes. 
That had a hoof beat in their sound ; 
20 But longed some further word to hear 
Of the old chronicler Ben Meir, 
And where his volume might be found. 

The tall Musician walked the room 
With folded arms and gleaming eyes, 
25 As if he saw the Vikings rise, 
Gigantic shadows in the gloom ; 
And much he talked of their emprise, 
And meteors seen in Northern skies. 
And Heimdal's horn, and day of doom. 

30 But the Sicilian laughed again ; 
" This is the time to laugh," he said, 
For the whole story he well knew 
Was an invention of the Jew, 
Spun from the cobwebs in his brain, 

29. Heimdal was the heavenly watchman in the Scandinavian mythology. 
He had a horn called GjaUar-horn, to blow at the day of judgment. 



260 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

35 And of the same bright scarlet thread 
As was the Tale of Kamhalu. 



Only the Landlord spake no word ; 

'T was doubtful whether he had heard 

The tale at all, so full of care 
40 Was he of his impending fate, 

That, like the sword of Damocles, 

Above his head hung blank and bare. 

Suspended by a single hair, 

So that he could not sit at ease, 
45 But sighed and looked disconsolate. 

And shifted restless in his chair. 

Revolving how he might evade 

The blow of the descending blade. 

The Student came to his relief 
50 By saying in his easy way 

To the Musician : " Calm your grief, 

My fair Apollo of the North, 

Balder the Beautiful and so forth ; 

Although your magic lyre or lute 
55 With broken strings is lying mute, 

Still you can tell some doleful tale 

Of shipwreck in a midnight gale, 

Or something of the kind to suit 

The mood that we are in to-night 
60 For what is marvellous and strange ; 

41. Damocles was a courtier at the court of Dionysius of Syracuse. He said 
so much in the praise of royalty that Dionysius gave him a hint of the uneasi- 
ness which kings suffered, by inviting him to a banquet, where a sword hung 
above the table suspended by a single hair. 

53. Balder, the god of the summer sunlight, answered in Scandinavian my- 
thology to Apollo in the Greek. He is a favorite subject with poets, among 
whom Matthew Arnold should be noted as making fine us^e of the myth. 



THE MOTHERS GHOST, 261 

So give your nimble fancy range, 
And we will follow in its flight." 

But the Musician shook his head ; 
" No tale I tell to-night," he said, 
" While my poor instrument lies there, 
66 Even as a child with vacant stare 

Lies in its little coffin dead." 

Yet, being urged, he said at last : 
" There comes to me out of the Past 
70 A voice, whose tones are sweet and wild, 

Singing a song almost divine, 

And with a tear in every line ; 

An ancient ballad, that my nurse 

Sang to me when I was a child, 
75 In accents tender as the verse ; 

And sometimes wept, and sometimes smiled 

"While singing it, to see arise 

The look of wonder in my eyes. 

And feel my heart with terror beat. 
80 This simple ballad I retain 

Clearly imprinted on my brain, 

And as a tale will now repeat." 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. 

THE mother's ghost. 

A Danish ballad, to be found in Grundtvig's DanmarJc''s gamle 
Folkerirser, II. 478, was the basis of this poem. 

SvEND DyrtjSTG he rideth adown the glade ; 

I tnyself ivas young ! 
There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid ; 

Fair words gladden so many a heart. 



262 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

5 Together were they for seven years, 
And together children six were theirs. 

Then came Death abroad through the land, 
And blighted the beautiful lily-wand. 

Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade, 
10 And again hath he wooed him another maid. 

He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a 

bride. 
But she was bitter and full of pride. 

When she came driving into the yard, 
There stood the six children weeping so hard ; 

15 There stood the small children with sorrowful heart ; 
From before her feet she thrust them apart. 

She gave to them neither ale nor bread ; 
*' Ye shall suffer hunger and hate," she said. 

She took from them their quilts of blue, 
20 And said : "Ye shall lie on the straw we strew." 

She took from them the great waxhght : 
*' Now ye shall lie in the dark at night." 

In the evening late they cried with cold ; 
The mother heard it under the mould. 

25 The woman heard it the earth below : 
*' To my little children I must go." 



THE MOTHERS GHOST. 263 

She standeth before the Lord of all : 
" And may I go to my children small ? " 

She prayed Him so long, and would not cease, 
30 Until He bade her depart in peace. 

" At cock-crow thou shalt return again ; 
Longer thou shalt not there remain 1 " 

She girded up her sorrowful bones, 

And rifted the walls and the marble stones. 

35 As through the village she flitted by, 
The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky. 

When she came to the castle gate, 
There stood her eldest daughter in wait. 

" Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine ? 
40 How fares it with brothers and sisters thine ? " 

" Never art thou mother of mine, 
For ray mother was both fair and fine. 

" My mother was wliite, with cheeks of red, 
But thou art pale, and like to the dead." 

" How should I be fair and fine ? 
46 I have been dead ; pale cheeks are mine. 

" How should I be white and red. 
So long, so long have I been dead ? " 



264 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

When she came in at the chamber-door, 
50 There stood the small children weeping sore. 

One she braided, another she brushed, 
The third she Hfted, the fourth she hushed. 

The fifth she took on her lap and pressed, 
As if she would suckle it at her breast. 

65 Then to her eldest daughter said slie, 

" Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me." 

Into the chamber when he came 

She spake to him in anger and shame. 

" I left behind me both ale and bread ; 
eo My children hunger and are not fed. 

" I left behind me quilts of blue ; 
My children lie on the straw ye strew. 

" I left behind me the great waxlight ; 
My children he in the dark at night. 

" If I come again unto your hall, 

66 As cruel a fate shall you befall ! 

" Now crows the cock with feathers red ; 
Back to the earth must all the dead. 

" Now crows the cock with featliers swart ; 
70 The gates of heaven fly wide apart. 



INTERLUDE. 265 

" Now crows the cock with feathers white ; 
I can abide no longer to-night." 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail, 
They gave the children bread and ale. 

75 Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay, 
They feared lest the dead were on their way. 

Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark, 

/ TYiyself was young ! 
They feared the dead out there in the dark. 

Fair words gladden so inany a heart. 



INTERLUDE. 

Touched by the pathos of these rhymes, 

The Theologian said : " All praise 

Be to the ballads of old times 

And to the bards of simple ways, 
8 Who walked with Nature hand in hand, 

Whose country was their Holy Land, 

Whose singing robes were homespun brown 

From looms of their own native town, 

Which they were not ashamed to wear, 
10 And not of silk or sandal gay, 

Nor decked with fanciful array 

Of cockle-shells from Outre-Mer." 

To whom the Student answered : "Yes ; 
All praise and honor ! I confess 
IB That bread and ale, home-baked, home-brewed. 



266 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

Are wholesome and nutritious food, 
But not enough for all our needs ; 
Poets — the best of them — are birds 
Of passage ; where their instinct leads 

20 They range abroad for thoughts and words, 
And from all climes bring home the seeds 
That germinate in flowers or weeds. 
They are not fowls in barnyards born 
To cackle o'er a grain of corn ; 

25 And, if you shut the horizon down 
To the small limits of their town. 
What do you but degrade your bard 
Till he at last becomes as one 
Who thinks the all- encircling sun 

30 Rises and sets in his back yard ? " 

The Theologian said again : 
*' It may be so ; yet I maintain 

That what is native still is best. 

And little care I for the rest. 
35 'T is a long story ; time would fail 

To tell it, and the hour is late ; 

We will not waste it in debate. 

But listen to our Landlord's tale." 

And thus the sword of Damocles 
40 Descending not by slow degrees. 
But suddenly, on the Landlord fell, 
Who blushing, and with much demur 
And many vain apologies, 
Plucking up heart, began to tell 
i5 The Rhyme of one Sir Christopher. 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 267 
THE LANDLORD'S TALE. 

THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 

A careful study of Sir Christopher Gardiner by Charles Francis 
Adams will be found in Harper'' s Monthly for March, 1883. The 
same, in a less popular form and with citation of authorities, is to 
be found in Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, 
XX. 60-88. 

It was Sir Christopher Gardiner, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
From Merry England over the sea, 
Who stepped upon this continent 
5 As if his august presence lent 
A glory to the colony. 

You should have seen him in the street 
Of the little Boston of Winthrop's time. 
His rapier dangling at his feet, 
10 Doublet and hose and boots complete, 
Prince Rupert hat with ostrich plume, 
Gloves that exhaled a faint perfume, 
Luxuriant curls and air sublime, 
And superior manners now obsolete ! 

15 He had a way of saying things 

That made one think of courts and kings, 

And lords and ladies of high degree ; 

So that not having been at court 

Seemed something very little short 
20 Of treason or lese-majesty, 

Such an accomplished knight was he. 

3. Merry in this phrase signifies " stirring," 



268 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

His dwelling was just beyond the town, 
At what he called his country-seat ; 
For, careless of Fortune's smile or frown, 
25 And weary grown of the world and its ways, 
He wished to f)ass the rest of his days 
In a private life and a calm retreat. 

But a double life was the life he led. 
And, while professing to be in search 

30 Of a godly course, and willing, he said, 
Nay, anxious to join the Puritan church, 
He made of all this but small account. 
And passed his idle hours instead 
With roistering Morton of Merry Mount, 

35 That pettifogger from Furnival's Inn, 
Lord of misrule and riot and sin, 
Who looked on the wine when it was red. 

This country-seat was little more 

Than a cabin of logs ; but in front of the door 
40 A modest flower-bed thickly sown 

With sweet alyssum and columbine 

Made those who saw it at once divine 

The touch of some other hand than his own. 

And first it was whispered, and then it was known, 
45 That lie in secret was harboring there 

A little lady with golden hair, 

Whom he called his cousin, but whom he had wed 

In the Italian manner, as men said. 

And great was the scandal everywhere. 

34. Motley, the historian, wrote in his early days a novel called Merry' 
mount, in which Morton's pranks are made the basis of the story. 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 269 

60 But worse than this was the vague surmise, 

Though none could vouch for it or aver, 

That the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre 

Was only a Papist in disguise ; 

And the more to imbitter their bitter lives, 
65 And the more to trouble the public mind, 

Came letters from England, from two other wives. 

Whom he had carelessly left behind ; 

Both of them letters of such a kind 

As made the governor hold his breath ; 
60 The one imploring him straight to send 

The husband home, that he might amend ; 

The other asking his instant death. 

As the only way to make an end. 

The wary governor deemed it right, 
65 When all this wickedness was revealed. 

To send his warrant signed and sealed, 

And take the body of the knight. 

Armed with this mighty instrument, 

The marshal, mounting his gallant steed, 
70 Rode forth from town at the top of his speed, 

And followed by all his bailifPs bold, 

As if on high achievement bent, 

To storm some castle or stronghold. 

Challenge the warders on the wall, 
75 And seize in his ancestral hall 

A robber-baron grim and old. 

But when through all the dust and heat 
He came to Sir Christopher's country-seat. 
No knight he found, nor warder there, 
80 But the little lady with golden hair, 
Who was gathering in the bright sunshine 



270 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

The sweet alyssum and columbine ; 
While gallant Sir Christopher, all so gay, 
Being forewarned, through the postern gate 
85 Of his castle wall had tripped away, 
And was keeping a little holiday 
In the forests that bounded his estate. 

Then as a trusty squire and true 

The marshal searched the castle through, 

90 Not crediting what the lady said ; 
Searched from cellar to garret in vain, 
And, finding no knight, came out again 
And arrested the golden damsel instead, 
And bore her in triumph into the town, 

95 While from her eyes the tears rolled down 
On the sweet alyssum and columbine, 
That she held in her fingers white and fine. 

The governor's heart was moved to see 
So fair a creature caught within 

100 The snares of Satan and of sin, 
And he read her a little homily 
On the folly and wickedness of the lives 
Of women half cousins and half wives ; 
But, seeing that naught his words availed, 

105 He sent her away in a ship that sailed 
For Merry England over the sea. 
To the other two wives in the old countree, 
To search her further, since he had failed 
To come at the heart of the mystery. 

110 Meanwhile Sir Christopher wandered away 
Through pathless woods for a month and a day, 



THE RHYME OF SIR CHRISTOPHER. 271 

Shooting pigeons, and sleeping at night 
With the noble savage, who took delight 
In his feathered hat and his velvet vest, 

115 His gun and his rapier and the rest. 
But as soon as the noble savage heard 
That a bounty was offered for this gay bird. 
He wanted to slay him out of hand, 
And bring in his beautiful scalp for a show, 

120 Like the glossy head of a kite or crow, 
Until he was made to understand 
They wanted the bird alive, not dead ; 
Then he followed him whithersoever he fled, 
Through forest and field, and hunted him down, 

125 And brought him prisoner into the town. 

Alas ! it was a rueful sight 

To see this melancholy knight 

In such a dismal and hapless case ; 

His hat deformed by stain and dent, 
130 His plumage broken, his doublet rent, 

His beard and flowing locks forlorn. 

Matted, dishevelled, and unshorn. 

His boots with dust and mire besprent ; 

But dignified in his disgrace, 
135 And wearing an unblushing face. 

And thus before the magistrate 

He stood to hear the doom of fate. 

In vain he strove with wonted ease 

To modify and extenuate 
140 His evil deeds in church and state. 

For gone was now his power to please ; 

And his pompous words had no more weight 

Than feathers flying in the breeze. 



272 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

With suavity equal to his own 

145 The governor lent a patient ear 

To the speech evasive and high-flown, 
In which he endeavored to make clear 
That colonial laws were too severe 
When applied to a gallant cavalier, 

150 A gentleman born, and so well known. 

And accustomed to move in a higher sphere. 

All this the Puritan governor heard. 
And deigned in answer never a word ; 
But in summary manner shij^ped away, 
155 In a vessel that sailed from Salem bay, 
This splendid and famous cavalier, 
With his Rupert hat and his popery. 
To Merry England over the sea. 
As being unmeet to inhabit here. 

160 Thus endeth the Rhyme of Sir Christopher, 
Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, 
The first who furnished this barren land 
With apples of Sodom and ropes of sand. 



FINALE. 

These are the tales of those merry guests 
Told to each other, well or ill ; 
Like summer birds that lift their crests 
Above the borders of their nests 
5 And twitter, and again are still. 
These are the tales, or new or old, 
In idle moments idly told ; 



FINALE. 273 

Flowers of the field with petals thin, 
Lilies that neither toil nor spin, 
10 And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse 
Hung in the parlor of the inn 
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse. 

And still, reluctant to retire, 

The friends sat talking by the fire 
15 And watched the smouldering embers burn 

To ashes, and flash up again 

Into a momentary glow, 

Lingering like them when forced to go, 

And going when they would remain ; 
20 For on the morrow they must turn 

Their faces homeward, and the pain 

Of parting touched with its unrest 

A tender nerve in every breast. 

But sleep at last the victory won ; 
25 They must be stirring with the sun ; 

And drowsily good night they said. 

And went still gossiping to bed. 

And left the parlor wrapped in gloom. 

The only live thing in the room 
30 Was the old clock, that in its pace 

Kept time with the revolving spheres 

And constellations in their flight. 

And struck with its uplifted mace 

The dark, unconscious hours of night, 
35 To senseless and unlistening ears. 

Uprose the sun ; and every guest. 
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed 



274 TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 

For journeying home and city-ward ; 
The old stage-coach was at the door, 
40 With horses harnessed, long before 

The sunshine reached the withered sward 
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar 
Murmured : " Farewell forevermore." 

" Farewell ! " the portly Landlord cried ; 
" Farewell ! " the parting guests replied, 
46 But little thought that nevermore 

Their feet would pass that threshold o'er ; 

That nevermore together there 

Would they assemble, free from care, 
50 To hear the oaks' mysterious roar. 

And breathe the wholesome country air. 

Where are they now ? What lands and skies 
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes ? 
What hope deludes, what promise cheers, 

55 What pleasant voices fill their ears ? — 
Two are beyond the salt sea waves, 
And three already in their graves. 
Perchance the living still may look 
Into the pages of this book, 

eo And see the days of long ago 
Floating and fleeting to and fro. 
As in the well-remembered brook 
They saw the inverted landscape gleam, 
And their own faces like a dream 

55 Look up upon them from below. 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

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AMERICAN POEMS. Unabridged Selections from the works of 
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With Biographical Sketches, and Notes explaining the Historical and 
Personal Allusions. 16mo, 463 pages, $1.00, net. 
This book contains several of the most characteristic long poems by the 

eminent writers above named. The list of pieces selected is as follows : — 

Longfellow : Evangeline ; The Courtship of Miles Staudish ; The Build- 
ing of the Ship. 

Whittier : Snow-Bound ; Among the Hills ; Mabel Martin ; Cobbler 
Keezar's Vision ; Barclay of Ury ; The Two Rabbis ; The Gift of Trite- 
mius ; The Brother of Mercy ; The Prophecy of Samuel Sewall ; Maud 
Muller. 

Bryant : Sella ; The Little People of the Snow. 

Holmes : Grandmother's Story of the Battle of Bunker Hill ; The School- 
Boy. 

Lowell : The Vision of Sir Launfal ; Under the Willows; Under the Old 
Elm; Agassiz. 

Emerson : The Adirondacs ; The Titmouse ; Monadnoc. 

AMERICAN PROSE. Selections of entire Essays, Sketches, and 
Stories from the works of Hawthorne, Irving, Longfellow, Whit- 
tier, Holmes, Lowell, Thoreau, and Emerson. With Introduc- 
tions and Notes. 16mo, 424 pages, $1.00, nef. 
The selections comprised in this book are as follows : — 

Hawthorne : The Snow-Image ; The Great Stone Face ; Browne's 
Wooden Image; Howe's Masquerade. 

Irving ; Rip Van Winkle ; Little Britain. 

Longfellow : The Valley of the Loire ;' Journey into Spain. 

Whittier : Yankee Gypsies ; The Boy Captives. 

Holmes : The Gambrel-Roofed House. 

Lowell : My Garden Acquaintance. 

Thoreau : Sounds ; Brute Neighbors ; The Highland Light. 

Emerson : Behavior ; Books. 

Any person familiar with these essays and stories will recognize their 
great and varied interest, as well as their unquestionable literary excellence 
and charm. 

It is little wonder, in view of the kind of " readers " that have so long been in use in 
our schools, that there is so little interest either in reading or in literature. The present 
volume is one of several recently published which point to a much-needed reform in 
this particular, and a reform which will, if we are not greatly mistaken, yield the most 
beneficent results. — Examiner and Chronicle (New York). 

The volume has this double value, — it is an excellent reader for schools, and a real 
introduction to general American literature. — Boston Advertiser. 

The notes and introduc*-ions are very judicious, and furnish just the information 
about the authors and books which the young reader needs. — New York School Journal. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
4 Park Street, Boston. 



MODERN CLASSICS. 



A library of thirty-three beautiful volumes, containing many of 
the best complete Stories, Essays, Sketches, and Poems in modern 
literature, including selections from the most celebrated authors 
of England and America, and translations of masterpieces by 
Continental writers. 

In several instances the selections from an author are accom- 
panied by a biographical essay by another eminent author, an 
arrangement which cannot fail to lend greater interest to both 
portions of the book and add materially to its value for use in 
schools. 

Teachers who are acquainted with the contents of these little 
volumes will readily see their fitness and availability for Supple- 
mentary Reading and for the study of Literature. 

Dr. William T. Harris, who says "it is an unrivalled list of ex- 
cellent works,'' has designated volumes 4, 6, 8, 15, 16, 18, and 26 
as suitable for Intermediate Schools; volumes 1, 15, 16, 17,22, 
24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 31, 32, for Grammar Schools ; and volumes 2, 3, 
5, 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 19, 20, 21, 23, and 29 for High Schools. 

The list of volumes is as follows : — 

1. Longfellow. Evangeline. The Courtship of Miles Staud- 

ish. Favorite Poems. 

2. Emerson. Culture, Behavior, Beauty. Books, Art, Elo- 

quence. Power, Wealth, Illusions. 

3. Emerson. Nature. Love, Friendship, Domestic Life. Suc- 

cess, Greatness, Immortality. 

4. Whittier. Snow-Bound. The Tent on the Beach. Fa- 

vorite Poems. 

5. LoAVELL. The Vision of Sir Launfal. The Cathedral. Fa- 

vorite Poems. 

6. Fields. In and Out of Doors with Charles Dickens. 
Dickens. A Christmas Carol. 

Fields. Barry Cornwall and some of his Friends. 

7. Coleridge. The Ancient Mariner. Favorite Poems. 
Wordsworth. Favorite Poems. 

8. FouQUE. Undine. Sintram. 
St. Pierre. Paul and Virginia. 

9. Dr. John Brown. Rab and his Friends. Marjorie Flem- 

ing. Thackeray. John Leech. 

10. Tennyson. Enoch Arden. In Memoriam. Favorite Poems. 

11. Tennyson. The Princess. Maud. Locksley Hall. 

12. E. C. Stedman. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, an Essay. 
Mrs. Browning. Lady Geraldine's Courtship. 
Robert Browning. Favorite Poems. 

13. Carlyle. Goethe, an Essay. 
Goethe. The Tale. Favorite Poems. 

14. Carlyle. Schiller, an Essay. 

Schiller. The Lay of the Bell, and Fridolin. .Favorite 
Poems. 



Cj^e MUv&iU iLtterature ^erieg^ 

PROSPECTUS FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR 1887-8. 

To be published monthly as indicated below. 

Single numbers 15 cents each. Subscription for the nine new numbert, 

$1.25. 
1887. 

Sept. 7. 28.t John Burroughs's Birds and Bees : Bird 

Enemies ; The Tragedies of the Nests. An Idyl 
of the Honey -Bee ; The Pastoral Bees. With 
an Introduction by Mary E. Burt, of the Jones 
School, Chicago, 111. 

Oct, 6. 29. Hawthorne's Little Daffydowndilly ; Lit- 
tle Annie's Ramble ; The Snow Image ; A Rill 
from the Town Pump ; David Swan. With a 
Biographical Sketch. 

[Numbers 29 and 10, also in one volume, board 
covers, 40 cents.] 

Nov, 1. 30. Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal, and Other 
Pieces. With Notes. 

Dec, 7. 31. Holmes's My Hunt after the Captain; 
The Physiology of Walking ; Trees. With an 
Introductory Sketch of Holmes's Writings. 
1888. 
Jan. 6. 32. Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech 

and Other Papers. 
Feb. 2. ) 33, 34, 35. Longfellow's Tales of a 'Wayside 
Mar, S, > Inn. With Notes. In three parts. Each part 
Apr, 7, ) sold separately. Also the three parts bound to- 
gether in board covers, 50 cents. 
May 5. 36. t John Burroughs's Sharp Eyes, A Taste of 
Maine Birch, The Apple, and other Essays. 
1 28 and 36 also in one volume, board covers, 40 cents. 
1887. EXTRA NUMBERS. 

A American Authors and their Birthdays. 
Programmes and Suggestions for the Celebration 
of the Birthdays of Authors. With a Record of 
Four Years' Work in the Study of American Au- 
thors. By Alfred S. Roe, Principal of the High 
School, Worcester, Mass. 
B Portraits and Biographical Sketches of 
Twenty American Authors. 



How shall we know the good books from the bad? Just as you distinguish betweer 
persons, — by reputation and acquaintance. You are cautious in regard to your com- 
pany; you make no acquaintance except on the strength of a proper introduction 39 
general reputation. Use the same rule with books. —Monger's " Ou the Threshold." 



*€:]^e IStbetjsitie Literature ^erieg. 

With Introductions, Notes, Historical Sketches, and Biographical Sketches. 
Each number, in paper ewers, 15 cents. 



1. Longfellow's Evangeline. 

2. Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish. 

3. Longfellow's The Courtship of Miles Standish. 

Dramatized for private theatricals in schools and families. 

4. "Whittier's Snow-Bound, and Among the Hills. 

5. Whittier's Mabel Martin, Cobbler Keezar, Maud 

Miiller, and other Poems. 

6. Holmes's Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill 

Battle, and other Poems. 
7, 8, 9. Hawthorne's True Stories from New England 
History. In three parts.f 

10. Hawthorne's Biographical Stories. 

Sir Isaac Newton, Samuel Johnson, Oliver Cromwell, Benjamin 
Franklin, Queen Christina. With Questions. 

[29 and 10 bound together in board covers, 40 cents.] 

11. Longfellow's The Children's Hour, and other Se- 

lections. 

12. Studies in Longfellow. Containing Thirty-two Topics for 

Study, with Questions and References relating to each Topic. 
13, 14. Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha. In two parts.| 

15. Lowell's Under the Old Elm, and other Poems. 

16. Bayard Taylor's Lars ; a Pastoral of Norway. 
17, 18. Hawthorne's Wonder-Book. In two parts.j 

19, 20. Benjamin Franklin's Autobiography. With a chap- 
ter completing the Life. In two parts. J 

21. Benjamin Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac, and 
other Papers. 

22, 23. Hawthorne's Tanglewood Tales. In two parts.| 

24. Washington's Rules of Conduct, Letters, and Ad- 

dresses. 

25, 26. Longfellow's The Golden Legend. In two parts.j 

27. Thoreau's Succession of Forest Trees, and Wild 
Apples. With a Biographical Sketch by Rajlph 
Waldo Emeesox. 

t Also in one Tolume, board covers, 45 cents. 
% Also in one volume, board covers, 40 cents. 

A Prospectus of nine new numbers to be issued monthly during the school 
year 1887-8 is given on the inside of this cover. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, ^' 
4 Park Street, Boston, Mass. 




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